Remain in Light
by erindarroch
Summary: The iconic romance between Han Solo and Leia Organa deserved a better outcome than what they got in TFA. I had to fix it. Herein lies a happy ending for Han and Leia (and their daughter) to cheer us all up. Han/Leia post-TFA romance (albeit a bit angsty!). Rey, Chewbacca, Luke, Poe Dameron, Finn & Phasma. Post-canon AU. Screw you, Jar-Jar Abrams.
1. Chapter 1: Han

Remain in Light – Chapter 1: Han

 **by Erin Darroch**

 **Ratings/Warnings (this chapter only):** T; angst; suggestion of violence

 **Note:** This is the only chapter of the story that is written in first-person, present-tense. I'm not a fan of this style; it just came out of me like this, in response to my first viewing of TFA. I was gutted. I had to save Han Solo from his terrible fate.

 **Chapter 1: Han**

As the darkness recedes, the pain in Han's chest glows white hot. Every wretched breath is a rasping horror as he drags air through his clenched teeth, and there is a roaring in his ears, a cacophony of harsh sounds. He hears the screech of metal against metal; the boom of distant explosions; the groan of heavy struts under assault and, above it all, the faint echo of a Wookiee's roar.

And then, from somewhere nearby, there is a startled laugh. A woman's bitter, ironic, incredulous laugh.

"Well, _well_. How nice of you to drop in..." Her vaguely metallic voice is flat against the whoosh of his own blood and the thumping of his heart.

He cracks open one eye and for an instant he is blinded by light flooding down from above, before his eyes clamp shut of their own accord. The pain in his chest is more blinding than the light, and the back of his head feels like it has caved in. Cold sludge engulfs his limbs. He drags one more heavy breath into his seared lungs, and it takes all of his strength to open his eyes again, to brave the dazzling light and the dull roaring in his ears. These will be his final sensations. He knows he is dying, that his life is ebbing from his body in shocked pulses, each coming just a little slower than the last, each throb a little weaker. Awareness of his imminent death doesn't frighten him, though; instead it brings a weak wash of relief, edged with guilt and tinged with shame, all flowing over a disappointment so bitter and a grief so profound he cannot bear it in mind for more than a fleeting instant. His eyes drift closed once more. The relative darkness is a balm, soothing and cool. The viscous pool into which he has fallen sucks at his back and limbs, floods his scalp, pulls him down. As his consciousness fades, he hears Leia's voice in his head, murmuring the mournful plea that he's seen in her eyes for years, at every goodbye:

 _If you see our son, bring him home._

Sorrow engulfs him as he realises that _this_ is how their story ends, that their sad farewell on D'Qar was their final parting. His time is up. His mission has failed. All that's left to do now is to let go.

"You're not such a hotshot now, old man." The armoured woman's voice is nearer now, clearer, drawing his consciousness briefly back to the surface. "How did you get a wound like that, I wonder?" She sounds amused, mocking, as if she already knows the answer to that question.

The stinking pool sloshes as she moves towards Han, rocking him deeper into the mire. His eyes open again as some primitive instinct senses a threat and tries to react. He is on his back, afloat on a sea of refuse, sinking into a churning waste—food waste, human waste and worse—but momentarily held up by its density. The stench of it floods his senses as he drags another breath through his pinched nostrils.

His instincts tell him to move, but he cannot stir even a finger to help himself. The stunning blow, the spinning fall, the abrupt impact and subsequent tumble down the garbage chute are all nothing in comparison to the paralyzing effect of having seen Ben's face again after so many years, of looking into his beloved son's eyes at long last, and seeing only an abyss. All he can do now is watch through slitted eyes as Phasma wades towards him through the fetid soup.

The pain in his chest swells again. He can taste blood and something else—charred meat. The detached part of his brain identifies it as his own flesh. In a flash, he remembers everything that happened in those shocked moments after Ben removed his mask. The sound of his boy's voice, strained and trembling. The desperate hope in his own heart, that he might just manage to pull off a miracle this time and bring their son home.

 _I know what I need to do, but I don't know if I have the strength to do it._

"You're just in time," Phasma tells him, her harsh voice breaking into his consciousness once more. "I was on my way out." He feels a heavy, gloved hand clamp down on his leg. Another grabs the front of his jacket, pulling him up out of the muck. The pain is too intense—the combination of the physical pain of the smoking, cauterised hole in his body, and the unbearable agony of remembering who put it there—and it overwhelms him.

 _Will you help me?_

The darkness beckons. It promises relief. He makes a decision.

 _Yes. Anything._

"Oh, no you don't," Phasma mutters over him. Through half-shut eyes he sees her turn her helmeted head, barking orders. There is an open hatch in the wall which winks in and out of view as she moves. A gust of fresh air wafts in as other figures enter the chamber. He senses their movements as they clamber in, wade across and lay hands on him.

"Get him out." The order is terse, and is swiftly obeyed.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

He regains consciousness with a jolt and reflexively glances down. The pain is so intense, he half expects to see the sputtering red blade still impaling him, but it's gone. Instead, he sees bare, blackened flesh, raw in the glow of red running lights. A medic is rummaging hastily through a case near his head. The deck plates beneath them rumble and hum. The rear ramp is retracting as the hydraulic door begins to close. Han begins coughing, choking. Hot blood flecks his chin and dribbles down his neck.

He is on a transport of some kind. Around him, grim stormtroopers stand swaying against the walls, hanging on to the metal struts and dangling straps for support as the shuttle leaves the ground. Phasma is there, too, her head inclined in a shouted exchange with a young officer of the First Order.

"...his father," she is yelling over the roar of the transport. "...he has failed."

She gestures towards Han. The officer turns his pale face towards the fallen man, and quirks one eyebrow. He shrugs. His answer is lost in the din. Snatches of Phasma's voice can be heard over the sounds of the transport door clanging shut.

"If he lives... Ren's weakness... our chance...".

The crimson light that suffuses the scene provokes another unwanted flash of memory—the last sight of Ben's face, growing darker in the dying light, finally tinted a deep, blood red. The cold, dark eyes regarding him dispassionately. The immobile face enduring one last caress.

Han cannot bear it, any of it. A black fog crowds his vision and he squeezes his eyes shut, silently begging for an end. But darkness does not overtake him. Not yet.

 _We can still save him. You. Me._

The medic begins addressing the catastrophic wound in his chest.

"No!" His voice is guttural, savage, as it rips from his throat. With his free hand, he tries to shove the man away. He wants to die now. He wants it all to be over. He understands, finally, how exhausting the battle has been for Ben, forever caught in the war between his true nature and his warped ambitions, between the love of his family and the corrupting lure of power. The deed is done, and there's an end to it. He has given his son one gift, at least, that he can cherish. Ben's last words to him are bittersweet.

 _Thank you._

He shoves at the medic again, but his body is weak and he is easily restrained. The medic continues his work. He has been ordered to save Han's life, and he is working feverishly to ensure that it happens, as if his own life depends upon it.

Han feels something sharp puncture his neck, followed by a spreading sensation of warmth and lethargy. A mask descends over his face, and cooling, healing vapours flood his lungs. The black fog that so completely obscured his vision a moment ago seems to lift, and everything around him brightens. He blinks rapidly, clearing sweat and tears from his eyes, suddenly more alert.

The tilt of the deck tells Han that they are changing direction. The stormtroopers lean into the turn, bracing their legs. Despite himself, Han cranes for a look beyond the shoulder of the medic hunched over him. Through the narrow, horizontal viewport he gets a glimpse of a planet crumbling into oblivion.

He thinks of Chewbacca and the two kids whose fates have so suddenly and completely been entwined with theirs. A spark of something like hope flares in his aching chest. Chewie will have gotten out, surely. He won't have squandered his life in a futile attempt to avenge his fallen friend, will he? He will have taken the kids to the _Falcon_ , and escaped this hell.

He thinks of Leia and considers the profound weight of grief and sorrow that will descend upon her already overburdened shoulders when she learns of what has happened. Anguish at the thought of what it will do to her threatens to overwhelm him. She deserves better than this. They both do.

He remembers the girl from Jakku, and the faintest hope stirs within him again. He _needs_ to see Leia again, one more time. There are things he needs to tell her.

"Can you save him?" Phasma is leaning down, shouting at the medic who is tending to Han's wound.

The medic looks up briefly and gives a thumbs up. Phasma straightens and turns her helmeted head in Han's direction. Behind her, the viewport fills with fire and the cabin is flooded with golden light.


	2. Chapter 2: Leia

Remain in Light – Chapter 2: Leia by Erin Darroch

 **Ratings/Warnings (this chapter only):** T; mild language; themes; angst

 **Chapter 2: Leia**

* * *

She _felt_ Han die.

In mid-breath, as she was navigating through the command centre, beginning to formulate a question for Admiral Statura, Leia choked. Her step faltered as her knees buckled, and she reached out for something, anything, to anchor her to reality. The loss was so sudden, so complete, it whipped the air from her lungs. She sank down onto a nearby crate, gripping its rough edges with her cold fingers. Looking down, her gaze fell upon the ring on her right hand. The twin suns winked up at her. She flinched and finally drew a gasping breath. Her head moved, her eyes moved. Her heart continued to beat and her lungs to inflate. Everything in her body was working normally, but she could feel nothing—nothing at all—as if she'd been blown out of an airlock into the vast vacuum of empty space.

And then sorrow pierced her breast like a caustic blade sliding through flesh, muscle and bone. She gasped again, her mouth working to make some sound. Agony. For a long moment, she was transfixed by searing pain, and one final, intimate connection to her husband.

 _A rush of memories flashed through his mind: worlds and time, friends and enemies, triumphs and failures. Words he wished he had spoken and others he regretted. All gone now, lost in an instant, like the one he would never again be able to hold in his arms._

She swayed on her seat, free-falling into the abyss, helpless to prevent the loss of everything she had left. Her own memories of Han crowded in, of his arms around her, pulling her close. His scarred chin coming to rest on the top of her head. His wry, rumbling voice. Changeable, gold-flecked hazel eyes. The tanned, weathered skin of his face that crinkled when he smiled. _That cocky smile._

She closed her eyes. He was gone, gone. The blackness was absolute.

Fleeting memories of the long years they'd spent together flickered through her mind, like the pages of an archaic book being ruffled by a thumb. Suddenly, incongruously, but as clear as a holovid, she recalled their first meeting: Han with a blaster in his hand, running rearguard as they retreated together with Luke down a smoke-filled detention corridor on the Death Star, dodging stormtroopers' bolts and yelling at each other.

 _Into the garbage chute, Flyboy!_

Her own distant words echoed strangely in her mind.

"General Organa?" Admiral Statura's voice filtered through the buzz that seemed to fill her ears. She opened her bleary eyes and tried to focus. He was looking at her intently, his dark, almond eyes filled with concern. "Leia? Are you well?"

Unable to answer, she tried to lift a hand, intending to wave him off. The feeble gesture instead caused his worried look to deepen. He reached out to grasp her drifting arm, then lunged to catch her as her eyes closed and she tipped sideways off the crate.

"Lieutenant!" Statura barked over his shoulder, holding Leia tightly as she sagged against him. Lieutenant Connix darted to Leia's side and helped Statura lower her to the ground.

As they did so, the twin coils of Connix's bright golden hair caught the light and Leia's eyes fluttered. She looked up at the young woman, noting the alarm and concern in her large brown eyes. _So young._ Leia was seized with an overwhelming desire to warn this foolish, idealistic girl. _What are you doing here? You could have a different life. Go._

"I'm alright," Leia rasped instead, forcing the words through her aching throat. She tried to sit up, swallowed hard and put a hand to her face. "Please, just..."

Even as she uttered the words, a vile sensation filled her senses. This feeling was monstrous, abhorrent. Something like triumph. Swelling pride. Deep satisfaction. Leia nearly gagged with disgust and horror. She shoved away the supporting arms of Statura and Connix, lurched feebly to one side and planted one hand on the solid ground, trying to hold on, trying to block the noxious glow of malignant pleasure that invaded her senses. The repulsive sensation persisted for a long moment, then slowly faded, leaving behind a flutter of something like disappointment. Stunned, incapacitated, Leia allowed herself to sink the rest of the way to the ground and curled up like a withering leaf.

The tiny, flickering spark of awareness that was always there, that had grown fainter and fainter over the past few years—but had never once left her since the moment he was born—abruptly winked out.

 _Ben._

Heedless of the spectacle she was becoming, she wrapped her arms around her head and curled even tighter, drawing her knees up in a futile attempt to diminish the pain.

 _No, no, no._

In the shocked silence that followed, she became vaguely aware of running feet and reaching hands, the murmur of voices rising in concern all around her. The air was filled with urgent questions and worried speculation. Someone knelt at her side, placed a hand on her shoulder.

She remained on the ground, too stunned to move, too numb to speak. Her thoughts flinched away from the yawning black hole in her awareness where her son had been. Instead, by force of habit, her flailing mind reached for the surest source of comfort, her refuge for almost thirty-five years. She groped in the darkness for her last, vanishing hope of sanctuary.

 _Han._

She choked out his name, managed to say it aloud, and vaguely sensed the ripple of response in the small crowd of Resistance fighters that surrounded her. Word would spread quickly. The helping hands on her shoulders and back turned to ineffectual but well-meaning pats of comfort, and murmured words of sympathy as her colleagues began to understand the probable cause of her behaviour. After a moment, she allowed them to lift her to her feet and lead her to a seat on one of the ubiquitous shipping crates that lined the room.

Statura's olive-skinned face swam into view, his dark eyebrows drawn up in an expression of sorrow and sympathy. He said something to her but she simply shook her head. Her ears were ringing as if a concussion grenade had just exploded.

 _You were right, Han,_ she thought. _It's too late. There is no saving him._

"Drink this, General." Connix approached again and pressed a cup into her hands, then gently supported her arm to lift it to her lips. Mechanically, she took a sip of the hot kaffe, swallowed hard and let it scald her aching throat. She took another sip, and then a gulp, relishing the pain of the scorching liquid as futile tears spilled down her cheeks.

 _We have lost him forever. And now I've lost you, too._

She let her glazed eyes roam around the command centre, noting with detachment the fact that most of the onlookers had already returned to their stations, a few of them casting curious looks in her direction now and then. Statura and Connix hovered nearby, wanting to help. She waved them off with mumbled words and a weary gesture. Reluctantly, they retreated, although she could feel their eyes on her. She drained the last dregs of the kaffe and set the cup down, then scrubbed at her tear-stained face with both hands.

The only person now who could be of any help whatsoever was Luke, and although she was certain that he must know—just as she did—what had happened on Starkiller Base, he'd made his position clear long ago. Even if he were to arrive now, she thought bitterly, he would be too late. Her thoughts tried to veer away, but she was trapped in a mental whirlpool that kept sucking her back down into an abyss of grief and utter hopelessness. She drew a shuddering breath and tried to quiet her mind.

In desperation, she tried to think of where Han might be now if, as Luke had always insisted, there was something more to them than their physical bodies. Her brother had told her before, many times, of his belief in some existence that persisted after death, something that the Force could allow them to tap into. She'd always smiled tolerantly at him when he spoke of such things, but now she clutched at the idea like a lifeline.

She'd felt Han die, just as surely as if she'd witnessed it in person. The idea of trying to communicate with him now seemed absurd, almost pathetic, but she closed her eyes anyway. Casting her thoughts wide, she tried to open herself to the mysterious channel that she used only sporadically, without fully understanding how it worked. She groped again in the darkness, trying to reach him, desperate to make that connection one last time. Desperate to say goodbye.

 _You deserved better than this, Han. I'm sorry. I love you._

And then, like the flame of a sputtering candle flaring in a gust of wind, she sensed something: a tenuous connection to a distant presence that was achingly familiar. Her heart lurched and fluttered painfully in her chest. She kept her eyes tightly closed, trying to block out the sounds of the bustling command centre. To her astonishment, she thought she _could_ feel him, but only faintly, and he was fading away. Was she imagining it? Had shock and grief simply unhinged her mind and produced a convincing delusion?

Straining as if to catch the sound of distant conversation, she thought she could hear a woman's voice, a shouted question:

 _Can you save him?_

The slender thread that had long connected her to Han suddenly revived and stretched taut, vibrating with energy. Her own frantic thoughts were an incoherent jumble, a tumble of wordless images as she tried to communicate something—anything—to let him know she was there with him at the last—that he was not alone.

Only one thought in her mind was perfectly clear, and it pierced the vastness between them like a laser, shining bright.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you._

In a flash of golden light, she saw a vision of a gloved thumb, pointing up.

* * *

 **Note:** This chapter incorporates a brief passage from the novelisation of TFA (the description of Han's "last thoughts" as he begins to die). I don't imagine that Leia can pick up on specific words like this through the Force, but I do imagine she gets a sense of the imagery and emotions behind them.


	3. Chapter 3: Han

Remain in Light – Chapter 3: Han by Erin Darroch

 **Ratings/Warnings (this chapter):** T; mild language; themes; angst

 **Chapter 3: Han**

"Ensign, report!"

The sharp command from the bold female voice startled Han into consciousness. He blinked, squinted and blinked again rapidly. Nothing. Absolute blackness. He tried to move, to sit up or turn, but the impulses went nowhere. He seemed to be both blind and paralysed. In fact, he had the curious and deeply disturbing sensation that his body was no longer attached; he couldn't feel anything below his head, not even the weight of his own limbs.

 _Great. That's just great._

Furthermore, there seemed to be something in his mouth, a large object, heavy, depressing his tongue and crowding his throat. As he registered this new sensation, he became aware of something else—a pinched feeling in the skin around his forehead, cheeks and jaw. There was something clamped to his face. Panicking, he tried to move again, to raise his arms and tear the thing off, but the effort seemed to result in nothing more than strenuous thought. His body would not respond to commands. A sudden jolt of fear tripped his heart into overdrive; he could feel it pulsing at his temples.

 _Heartbeat,_ he thought, automatically taking stock of his assets. _Okay, that's a good start. What else have we got?_

"His condition has stabilised, Captain." The man who spoke was, by the sound of it, not the same medic who had tended to him on the transport. His voice, sounding slightly distorted, held a note of surprise. "The immediate cauterisation helped, and we were able to repair a two-centimetre defect in the aortic isthmus that was threatening—"

"Spare me the details, Ensign," she snapped. "Will he survive?"

"Yes. It's a gruesome wound, to be sure, but he should survive it, and his other injuries are relatively minor." The medic paused, his tone growing thoughtful. "The right shoulder joint has been somewhat compromised, I'm afraid. The arm may give him some trouble."

"He will not need his arms," the first voice growled unpleasantly.

 _Oh, hell. That bad, huh?_

The Captain spoke again, impatiently. "When will he regain consciousness?"

There was a pause and Han thought he could sense someone leaning over him. He blinked and squinted, trying to decide if he could detect a shadow hovering over his face. Did that mean he was he lying down? He couldn't feel anything like pressure or friction against the back of his head, and nothing at all below the jaw. He drew a ragged, uncomfortable breath through the apparatus in his mouth. Alarmingly, he could not detect a corresponding inflation of his lungs. The lack of sensation was deeply disconcerting.

"Hm. He's conscious now, actually." Again, the medic sounded vaguely surprised and more than a little impressed. Somewhere near Han's head, he could hear faint clinking and rustling as the medic made adjustments to his instruments. "He has remarkable recuperative capacity for a human his age."

Han heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching his position and a new, older male voice entered the conversation. "I think you'll find that's the new intercellular hydrogel at work. It's powerful stuff. And very expensive."

"Cost is of no concern to me, Commander." The faintly metallic voice of the Captain gave the terse words an even colder effect. "Can you remove him from this...device? Can he talk?"

"He should remain immersed for a few more hours, Captain, if he's to recover fully."

"Do it now. I must speak with him," said the woman. "You can resume his treatment when I'm done."

 _Well,_ Han thought wryly, _at least they're going to let me recover before they kill me._

"One moment, please." The younger medic's polite request was followed by the sound of switches being flipped, dials being turned, clamps being released. Han drew another deliberate breath and then held it, listening intently, trying to orient himself. Given the mysterious state of his body, he wasn't at all sure that being mentally oriented was going to help him in the slightest, but it couldn't hurt.

He'd finally recognised the clipped metallic tones as those of the tall captain with the chromium armour—the woman he and Finn had dumped down the garbage chute on Starkiller Base. The thought of Starkiller Base provoked a sudden, painful flash of memory.

 _It's too late._

 _I'm being torn apart._

 _I want to be free of this pain._

Han's throat spasmed painfully, trying to constrict against whatever obstruction was there. He gagged, almost choked. Ordinarily, he was an absolute master of compartmentalisation and of living in the moment; he only ever thought about things when they _needed_ thinking about. But the memory of his last meeting with Phasma seemed to unleash the rest of his memories of Starkiller Base, and of everything that had happened there.

The pain that bloomed like a poison cloud in his mind had nothing to do with his physical injuries. Over the years, he'd suffered uncountable numbers of broken bones, lacerations, concussions and deep tissue damage. He'd been tortured, abused and entombed in carbonite. But nothing matched the pain he felt when he thought of his son.

The younger medic spoke again. "He seems to be in some distress, Commander."

The older medic responded, "Yes, so it would seem. Captain Phasma, perhaps you would prefer to wait outside?"

"I would not." Phasma's clipped words were as cold and metallic as her armour.

Han focused on the sound of that cold voice, and the memory of hefting its owner, with Finn's help, through the open garbage chute. He thought of the younger man's jubilant face, his triumphant whoop at seeing an old enemy disposed of so irreverently. They should have taken her communicator from her, Han supposed, but then again, if they'd done so, he would be dead.

Compartmentalising again, Han thought about Chewbacca and what he must have done in the moments after that confrontation on the bridge. The explosives they'd placed must have done the job. The last thing Han remembered seeing was a glimpse through the transport viewport as the entire base crumbled away to dust.

 _Good job, Pal. I hope you got out all right._

He tried hard not to think about Ben and whether he, too, had escaped the base. In his gut, he already knew the answer to that. His thoughts turned to Leia and that curious moment aboard the transport when he thought he could hear her rich, alto voice in his ear, an echo of the words he'd heard from her lips a thousand times in the course of over thirty years together.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you._

His breathing calmed and he closed his eyes.

"It will take a few minutes for the fluid to drain away and a few moments more for his movement to be restored," said the young medic. "After that, I can remove the mask."

"Never mind draining the fluid," the woman commanded. "Just remove the mask."

"I'm sorry Captain Phasma," the medic sounded genuinely apologetic. "The two systems are interconnected. I must follow these procedures or risk further damage."

The older medic spoke again, more insistently. "This will take some time, Captain. Perhaps Ensign Mellor can let you know when he is ready?"

There was an impatient huff from Phasma. Again Han felt a looming shadow fall over his face. "Very well. Be quick about it. Astor, come with me. We have something else to discuss."

Han listened to the sound of boots ringing down the corridor as they departed. He wondered what Phasma's game was, why she'd retrieved him from the cesspit in the belly of Starkiller Base where his son had left him to die.

Flinching internally, Han decided that those thoughts were _not_ going to be very helpful in his current predicament. The facts so far were that he was _alive_ , he was _receiving medical treatment_ and he was _expected to recover_. All things considered, those were pretty good facts. If Ben had intended to kill him when he drove the lightsaber through his body—and Han had no doubts at all that Ben had intended exactly that—he had failed.

As he mused over these realities, he became aware of a creeping return of sensation below his neck, a cold clamminess that made him feel exposed and vulnerable. He concentrated and thought he could feel the liquid—whatever it was he was immersed in—draining away beneath him. Cold air caressed his bare skin and he shivered. Experimentally, he tried to move his fingers and toes and was gratified when they obeyed.

 _So, not paralyzed, then. Things are looking up._

"Captain Solo, can you hear me?" The younger medic, Mellor, seemed to be leaning over him. "I'm going to remove your mask. You may experience some discomfort."

Mellor seemed downright pleasant, Han thought. Solicitous of his comfort. Positively caring. Han tried to snort in amusement and choked instead on the obstruction in his mouth.

"Just remain calm, Captain. You'll be free in a moment."

 _Free. Right._

Han suspected that he was farther away from free than he'd been in a long time. He wondered again at Phasma's motivation for retrieving and treating him. Was she hoping to hold him for ransom? The idea was ludicrous. There were precisely two beings in the galaxy who would pay to have him back, and neither one of them was rich. Must be political, then. Did Phasma hope to use him against Ben in some way? To control Ben by threatening Han's life? Again, ludicrous. Ben wanted him dead. That much was beyond question. He winced at the thought, but a niggling suspicion told him that he was onto something important. Ben wanted him dead, but Phasma wanted him alive. Why? Weren't they on the same side?

The touch of the medic's gloved fingers on the skin of his neck interrupted his thoughts. There was an uncomfortable stretching sensation as the suction was broken and the weight of the opaque mask was lifted away from his skin. The discomfort became intense when Mellor began extracting the breathing tube. The muscles of his arms went rigid with the impulse to reach up and snatch the thing away, but voluntary muscle movement seemed to be restricted for the moment to head, fingers and toes. He willed himself to relax as the medic completed the extraction and pulled the mask off.

Spitting, blinking rapidly and squinting against the sudden introduction of light, Han first took stock of his body. He was not stretched out on a typical medical table, he realised. Craning his neck to look down the length of himself, he saw that he was lying inside a shallow basin of some sort, the walls of which were thick, transparent plastic in which complex circuitry could be seen, flickering with multicoloured lights. The interior walls of the basin were coated in a thick, gelatinous orange residue, as was every centimetre of his bare skin. The wound in his upper right chest wall was horrific. He winced away and looked again. _Yep. Horrific._ It was difficult to get a good look from that angle, but it was clearly quite wide and looked worryingly deep. The orange shimmer of trapped hydrogel caught his eye as it quivered inside the cavity.

 _That is_ _ **not**_ _good._

"It is a terrible wound," the medic agreed with Han's silent assessment, approaching the basin to look down at him. Han's eyes locked on Mellor and his heart nearly stopped. The human male was indeed quite young, perhaps a year or two younger than Ben. Disturbingly, he was also eerily like Ben in appearance. Tall, leanly muscled, olive-skinned, with dark hair and eyes and a prominent, somewhat crooked nose. His hair was much shorter and his expression far friendlier than Ben's, however, and he was dressed in a crisp grey medical tunic and trousers. Han drew a shuddering breath and tried to slow the hammering of his heart. He looked away, remembering with profound grief the cold detachment in his son's dark eyes.

 _Ben._

To distract himself, he tried to focus on his surroundings. Glancing around the small room, he immediately identified potential weapons in the numerous medical instruments lying on the two metal tables. He also noted the nearest exit routes, including a large air vent on the wall opposite, and an open hatch leading to a corridor, down which Phasma and the other medic had presumably disappeared. Insignia and imprinted panels on the wall near the hatch indicated that he was aboard a First Order hospital station.

"You were extraordinarily lucky, Captain. The location of your primary wound couldn't have been more fortuitous. It's just missed vital organs, and impinged only slightly on the shoulder joint itself," Mellor informed him. "So it's mainly muscle and soft tissue damage we're dealing with, although I'm sure that's painful enough."

When Han didn't offer a response, the young medic continued with his summary. "You'll require a more extended time in the intercellular hydrogel treatment than would normally be necessary, but I am confident that it can heal you. Certainly, it saved your life. I've never seen a wound quite as bad as that one."

Han tried to shrug, but managed only to squirm against the hard surface of the medical basin. "I've had worse," he muttered.

The pain produced by his shrugging movement was intense, but not blinding. He decided to keep still for a moment longer.

Mellor gave a dry chuckle and began transferring supplies from a shallow metal crate into a nearby storage locker. "Yes, you have quite the reputation," he said amiably. "I must confess; I am an admirer."

The young medic smiled down at him, and then moved away to return to his tasks. "Your movement should be fully restored in a few minutes, Captain Solo, but you are likely also to feel quite a bit more pain as the effects of the hydrogel wear off. Try to remain still. I will give you something else for the pain so that you can speak with Captain Phasma without too much discomfort."

Mellor was, indeed, the most pleasant and efficient member of the First Order that Han had ever met. Not that he'd met many, but still. Quite a contrast to what he might have expected, and even more jarring when Han compared him with his lookalike, monstrous son.

Han winced. That was not entirely fair, he conceded. Ben had not always been a monster. Far from it. As a baby, he'd been fractious, yes, and sometimes difficult to soothe. But he'd also given Han and Leia many years of pure joy as they cared for him together, tenderly guiding his steps and watching him develop. To his great surprise, Han had revelled in the role of being a father, as much as he'd delighted in being a husband to Leia. Both realisations had mystified him as much then as they did now, but those were the facts. He had thoroughly enjoyed his time as a family man. He sighed heavily as he considered another inescapable reality—that time was over.

"Here you go," Mellor was back. In his hands he held a loosely-folded grey blanket, which he snapped open and draped over Han's hips and legs. "And something for the pain." With quick efficiency, he took up an instrument from the table and administered a dose into Han's upper deltoid muscle. "I'll be back in a moment. Try to relax."

As Mellor disappeared down the corridor, Han watched through the thick, transparent wall of the basin. His resemblance to Ben was merely superficial, but it left Han feeling deeply unsettled.

He thought again of Ben as a child. He had been a terror as a toddler, but then weren't most toddlers self-centred tyrants with very short tempers? It was only as Ben grew into older boyhood that Han began to suspect there might be something fundamentally wrong with his son's development. He'd been an active but serious child, often seeming distracted or preoccupied, but possessing a laser-like focus on tasks that interested him. Increasingly, as he grew older, the one thing that interested him the most was the Force and all things relating to the mysterious Jedi.

 _Nothing like me,_ Han thought. _Nothing like Leia._

With an irritated jerk of his head against the surface of the basin, Han decided it was time to get moving.


	4. Chapter 4: Leia

Remain in Light – Chapter 4: Leia by Erin Darroch

 **Chapter 4: Leia**

* * *

 **Part 1: Leia and Maz**  
"You know the truth, Leia," said Maz Kanata conversationally, peering up at Leia Organa from her seat near the vacant control station. "I can see it in your eyes."

With some consternation, Leia glanced down at the diminutive orange-skinned creature who had turned up in the wake of Han and Finn's departure. The remark came out of nowhere and was apropos of nothing. It was typical of Maz, but it deepened Leia's frown. Ignoring the comment, she watched the telemetry display in front of her, trying to focus on the task at hand. Around them, the Resistance base buzzed with the voices and movements of strategists, aides, technicians and pilots. They were in the process of packing up the base for their next move, engaged in the endless work of thwarting the machinations of the First Order. Now was not the time for a chat. Maz seemed to take the hint, and remained silent for the moment.

Maz was only passing through. She'd made it clear on arrival that she was only using the Resistance base as a brief stopping place to regroup with some of her core people, many of whom were also linked to the movement. After the destruction of her castle on Takodana, her home for the past one-hundred years, Maz was on the move again.

Leia never knew what to make of Maz. She was an old friend of Han's and, by extension, an old friend of Leia's. She was an inveterate pirate, ancient by any measure, and strong in the ways of the Force. She was also a steadfast ally in the work of the Resistance against the burgeoning threat of the First Order, and Leia liked her. None of that meant that Leia _understood_ her, though. On the contrary, Kanata's commentary was often obscure to the point of being opaque.

In this case, however, Leia could guess at the "truth" that Maz was referring to, and she didn't want to discuss it. She _could not_ discuss it. She was using all of her considerable powers of self-control to keep her thoughts from straying to the edge of that abyss. The unspeakable act that had ended Han's life was a horror that she could not hold in her mind for even an instant without feeling violently ill. In the short time that had passed since that devastating moment, she'd forced her psyche into lockdown, ruthlessly crushing every thought that strayed in that direction. She would not _think_ of it, let alone speak of it. And least of all with Maz, who maintained a gentle philosophical detachment from the vagaries of human lives, creatures whose entire life spans were a mere fraction of her own one thousand years.

As long as Leia didn't think of what had happened, she could keep her bitter memories at bay, and get on with the deadly business of destroying Snoke. It was the only thing that mattered to her now, the only thing that kept her on her feet. And when that job was done, Leia promised herself, she would grieve. She would never _stop_ grieving. Perhaps she would take a ship to a planet beyond the Outer Rim, find a cave by a sea and wait out the rest of her days in meditation on the lonely ruin that was her life. But until that time, her place was here, doing the only thing she knew how to do, the only thing still in her power.

"I have something important to tell you," Maz said suddenly. "It cannot wait."

At the looming possibility of an unwanted conversation with Maz, Leia's control wavered. The black hole at her centre threatened to swallow everything, to absorb the last ragged particles of her soul. She looked away from the telemetry display to fix Maz with a fathomless, pleading gaze.

 _Please._

The little alien blinked at her. Her eyes were every bit as disconcerting as her conversational skills, Leia thought. Many times in the past, in meetings between herself and Han where Maz had been present, Leia had been acutely aware of the woman's goggle-eyed gaze on them. Her wise eyes always roamed ceaselessly back and forth between them, as if absorbed in a fascinating and entertaining story that only she could read. Now, as Leia watched, Maz reached up and twisted her goggles, rotating the lenses and squinting. She appeared to be waiting for an invitation to continue. She wasn't going to get one.

"Maz," Leia said, in as steady a tone as she could muster, "I cannot discuss it. Not now."

"Oh, that," Maz said, gesturing dismissively with a knowing smile. "I think that will resolve itself in due course. It is an opportunity for you, and I do not wish to interfere with it. And perhaps it is not my place, either, to tell you what I am going to tell you. I may be rebuked for it one day," she mused, her eyes shifting to a faraway gaze. After a moment, she looked at Leia again and gave a curt nod. "But that is not now, and Han is not here."

Leia blanched, but Maz continued without pause. "Soon, I will be departing from this sector, and I do not plan to return, not for some time. I cannot always understand the futures I see, but I think you must know before I go."

Leia's mind whirred in confusion. Never returning? Seeing the future? Divulging a secret that was not hers to tell? Maz's air of mystery was growing tiresome and vexatious. Leia felt her anger rising at her ally's casual shrugs, her matter-of-fact tone, her air of detachment.

"Know _what_ , exactly?" She turned away from the display now and braced one hand on the smooth, curved edge of the command board. Giving the small creature her full attention, she planted a fist on her hip and waited. "What must I know?"

Maz smiled a peculiar smile. "Han brought a girl to see me. A girl from Jakku."

Leia nodded impatiently. "Yes, he told me about her. The one taken by—," she paused, choking on the name. She drew a deep breath. "The one taken from Takodana."

"Yes, the one who was taken by your son." Maz was ruthless, or oblivious, or both.

Leia glared with rage and misery at the wizened creature, feeling her heart slamming against her ribs, her pulse pounding in her head. Her throat constricted painfully, and she gripped the edge of the command board to stop herself swaying. Maz nodded up at her, sitting serenely in her chair. The diminutive alien looked as if she were merely passing the time of day, chatting about the weather. Breathless with pain and unwilling to engage for a moment longer in the conversation, Leia turned on her booted heel and stalked away.

Muttering a mixture of Alderaani and Corellian curses, she made her way with purpose across the noisy, crowded command centre to a quiet area that was reserved for her private use. This would be the last area to be dismantled, and she would be among the last to leave. As soon as the X-wing squadron returned from its mission, they would organise the remaining transports and depart within a few days.

She tried not to think of the _Millennium Falcon_ , nor of Chewbacca, who was also on his way to rejoin them. The thought of watching Chewie walk down that ramp without Han was too much to bear. The idea of speaking to him, of hearing the tale of what had happened on Starkiller Base, left her feeling sick. Her control was slipping. Agonized and angry, she ripped off her cropped jacket and flung it onto the long bench that bordered the workspace, then covered her face with trembling hands.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

"What did Han tell you about her?"

Leia jumped, startled out of her distress by the silent reappearance of Maz Kanata at her elbow. A terrible impulse overtook her then, and she put her hand on the compact blaster she wore at her waist. For an instant, she battled with her better nature. All she wanted in that moment was to drive Kanata from her presence, to shut her up. But Maz was a friend, and a strong ally. On a deeper level, Leia knew that—whatever her purpose in persisting with the conversation—Maz meant her no harm. Leia settled for glaring down her nose at the old pirate, as she tried to calm her own breathing.

Maz looked unperturbed, but ever-so-slightly apologetic. "I _am_ sorry, Leia," she said, in a gentler tone. "But I think you should know who she is before you make any more decisions."

"What do you mean 'who she is'?" Leia snapped, taking her hand off her blaster. She paced away from Maz in agitation, then turned to face her, crossing her arms. "She's no one. Han said she was a scavenger who came across Poe's droid and the information in it, and she was trying to get it back to us."

Leia felt bewildered and deeply saddened to be talking about Han at all. She wanted to keep him inside, to keep his name behind her lips until the dark of night when she could be alone with her ghosts. She was furious with Maz for pursuing her, and she wasn't in the mood to speculate about the girl from Jakku.

Maz paused, adjusting her goggles slightly as she examined Leia's face.

"She 'came across the droid', did she?" Maz cocked her small head to one side and wrinkled up her wizened face. "And how did she come to leave the planet?"

Leia hesitated, not understanding Maz's eagerness, or the significance of the connection she was trying to draw between this anonymous girl and herself. Someone was _bound_ to come across a roaming droid and pick it up. Valuable tech like that would never go unclaimed for long. They'd been fortunate that it was someone who was willing to try to get the droid back to the Resistance. Leia shuddered to think of what would have happened if the information about Luke's location had been intercepted by the First Order. She'd already resolved that the girl would be honoured for her brave actions and—if she'd survived the destruction of Starkiller Base—she'd be appropriately rewarded. But that was as far as Leia had thought about the scavenger, and she remained mystified by Maz's apparent excitement.

"Leia, how did the girl leave the planet?" Maz repeated insistently.

 _Okay, fine. Just get to the point._

With a heavy sigh, Leia said, "She stole the _Falcon_..."

"Yes!" Maz said, as if that explained everything. "She took the _Millennium Falcon_. Han's own ship—stolen from him how many years ago?—that just happened to be docked there, unsecured, in her village. And the girl just happened to fly that ship right past Han himself, who just _happened_ to be in orbit above Jakku at that moment. What an interesting coincidence, don't you think?"

"It _was_ a coincidence," Leia said, thoroughly perplexed. "What else would it be?"

"There are coincidences, and then there are _coincidences_ ," Maz said with a knowing smile. "And Han's meeting with that girl was something else entirely."

Nonplussed, Leia considered what Han had said to her about the scavenger before he left. Had she missed something important? Had he mentioned anything about recognising the girl from somewhere else? Trying to replay their conversations in her mind only brought on a powerful and debilitating sense of grief and loss. Their shared devastation had been at the centre of practically every conversation for the past several years, and the subject of their last meeting was too sore. She hadn't said the things she wanted to say. She hadn't heard the things she wanted to hear. And now there was nothing more to be done about it.

With a violent shake of her head, she turned her back to Maz and gazed out at the bustling command centre . She resolved to say no more, but simply to wait for Maz to speak. Clearly the provocative creature had a story to tell and she was determined to tell it. The sooner Leia allowed her to do so, the sooner it would be over. All around them, the work of dismantling the non-essential interior structures continued. Leia watched the activity in silence, and tried to recover her self-control.

 _Of course_ it was a coincidence that Han happened to be making a deal above the planet where his old freighter was sitting. He was always making deals—sometimes for himself, but just as often for Leia's benefit. Even when he'd been absent from her side, he'd found ways to support the work of the Resistance, frequently passing information and resources to her through Maz Kanata herself. And Leia knew that Han had used every opportunity to try to find out what had happened to the _Falcon_. He and Chewie had criss-crossed the galaxy searching for that ship. And _of course_ he'd grabbed the freighter with a tractor beam—because he'd recognised it and he wanted it back! Not because he somehow knew who or what was on board. To suggest that it was for any other reason was absurd.

The timing _had_ been remarkable, she mused. That much was true. But Han had always been lucky that way.

Leia supposed it was a bit strange, perhaps, that the girl who'd found Poe's missing droid—the droid that held vital information about the location of Luke Skywalker—would happen to pick that _particular_ ship to steal, linked as it was to Luke himself. The scavenger couldn't have known that, though, surely? How could she? Her choice of transport was simply the result of an unusual concurrence of events; there was no other explanation.

But it was interesting, also, that the girl had been pursued by a battalion of the First Order, a battalion whose attack had been commanded by—.

Leia stopped thinking, feeling the cold hand of fate on the back of her neck.

The coincidences were eerily reminiscent of those that had brought her own lost twin, the brother she'd never known, to the door of her detention cell on the first _Death Star_. Luke's interception of Artoo—the droid dispatched by Leia herself—had been as unlikely as the string of circumstances Maz wanted her to consider now. Leia felt her stomach lurch as she thought about who had abducted the girl from Jakku.

 _Why, Ben? Why did you take her?_

Slowly, Leia turned her head to look at the diminutive creature who was eyeing her with great interest.

Maz graced her with a gentle smile. "Search your feelings, Leia."

"I don't know what you mean," Leia breathed, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "I don't know who she is."

"You do know," Maz said with certainty. "You just won't allow yourself to believe that it might be true. You should not have abandoned your training in the ways of the Force."

At that, Leia blinked and turned her face away from Maz's enquiring gaze. Those words conjured more thoughts of her brother, lost to her again, and the Jedi academy he'd established all those years ago. Leia squeezed her eyes shut in anguish, deliberately recalling for the first time in many years the day she and Han had ferried their two children there and handed them over to Luke's care. Her chest constricted to the point where each breath was merely a shallow gasp. The abyss beckoned.

Maz was speaking. A faint echo of her words reached Leia's ears; a rich voice full of wisdom and promise. "Leia, listen to me. Hope is not _lost_ today. It is _found_."

Something stirred within her. A memory—long buried—of a sweetly rounded face, a girlish giggle, dark hair and hazel eyes just like her father's. Leia felt a fluttering awareness of a tender connection that had been brutally severed and cauterised long ago. Panicking, she quelled it with all her might. She could not bear to open herself, to reach out again, to grope around in the emptiness where there was nothing left but a longing so deep, a sorrow so profound, she could no longer articulate it, even to herself.

"Let it in, Leia."

"No!" Leia rasped, and pivoted on her heel to glare at Maz. Her voice was raw and shaking. "That's enough. I don't know what sort of game you're playing Maz, but this is cruel. I want you to leave."

Maz seemed completely unfazed by Leia's outburst.

"Listen to me, Leia. Your daughter is _alive_ ," she said with a luminous smile. She spread her arms wide and looked up at the stars. Her voice was filled with awe. "And somehow, in all this _vast_ galaxy, she found her father. Or _he_ found _her_ _!_ Is that not a _wondrous_ thing? Is that not the most _marvellous_ thing?" The wizened creature beamed at Leia and waited.

Leia was shaking her head, mute with an emotion she could not identify. Wordlessly, she extended a forestalling hand in Maz's direction.

 _Stop._

"Han recognised her, Leia, but he would not allow himself to believe it. He brought her to me because he was too afraid to raise your hopes. Are you afraid? Will you also turn away from such knowledge?"

"No," Leia murmured, her lips almost too numb to speak. She retracted her hand and wrapped her arms around her quaking torso. Her skin felt drenched in cold sweat. Her voice was ragged. "I would know."

" _How could you know?"_ Maz said, piercingly, stepping closer to peer up into Leia's face. "You turned away from hope to spare yourself pain. You sealed yourself off from the one thing that could have—."

"Han would have told me," Leia interrupted sharply, her voice hoarse with fresh grief and rage.

She would not be rebuked by this creature for curtailing her interaction with the Force. She'd tried—she'd spent long, agonizing, futile years _trying_ —to use the Force to find her daughter, to no avail. And when she thought back over the course of her life, she couldn't see any good reason to continue an active association with it. Thinking of Alderaan, of her parents—both biological and adopted—and her brother, of her children and her husband, Leia wondered what that mysterious power had _ever_ done for her but cause her misery, and wreck her life, over and over again.

Maz pursed her thin lips and tilted her head, conceding the point. "Yes, Han would have told you if he'd been certain of it. Yes, of course. But he had only begun to suspect," Maz told her. "And although he was more convinced by the time he and I parted company, I suppose he was hoping to produce some proof—or at least to free her from imprisonment—before he said anything to you. After all, how much worse would it have been for you to learn of Breha's survival only after she'd been lost again? Probably, he hoped to bring her home."

Leia's world tilted, and a wave of dizziness overtook her. She took a stumbling step to the bench and sat down, clamping her arms around her middle.

 _Breha._

The name was so strange in her mind. So cherished, but so painful, even now, fourteen long years after she'd been taken from Luke's training academy. Taken and—appallingly—dumped on the desert planet of Jakku to fend for herself, Leia realised with horror. Her whole body was shaking, her breathing erratic. The rational part of her brain identified the symptoms of shock. The unknown fate of their young daughter had haunted her dreams more than any other loss she'd suffered, and that was saying something. Even the destruction of Alderaan and the recent obliteration of the entire Hosnian star system—brutal acts of war—were easier to accept than the thought of five-year-old Breha, so lively and sweet, taken to parts unknown, to suffer alone, in ways that Leia couldn't bear to imagine.

Maz approached and stood beside her, at eye level now that Leia was seated. "This is the girl whose fate is in motion, Leia. This girl, your daughter, is on her way here. She is coming home to you. Reach out to her. You will see."

Leia covered her own aching throat with one icy hand. "Maz, please. _Please_ stop. _I can't—_ "

"Leia, _reach out_!"

Finally, the command was too compelling to resist, the desire to know the truth was too strong.

Leia closed her eyes, shutting out the lights and noise of the busy command centre, and _reached_ tentatively into that strange dimension. She was trembling uncontrollably, her whole body quaking with fear and hope in equal measure. She cast her senses wide, conscious that all of her crushed hopes had revived in an instant—and that she was risking what little self-control she had left by opening herself to that loss all over again. In the next instant, her groping mind connected with the distinct, familiar energy she recognised as her precious daughter.

 _There you are!_

A sobbing gasp escaped Leia's throat and her eyes flew open in wonder, even as her senses filled with awareness of that spark she'd felt extinguished fourteen years ago and had never been able to sense again. She stared at Maz, heedless of the hot tears spilling down her cheeks. "She _is_ alive."

Maz was smiling gently at her, nodding her orange-skinned head.

"That's right. And I believe she'll be here soon." Maz gave Leia's arm a pat, then straightened her coat and jammed her tiny hands into her pockets, looking gratified. "Now I must depart. If Han is angry with me for discussing this with you, tell him I am sorry."

Leia stared at her, uncomprehending.

 _But Han is—_

She couldn't complete the thought.

Maz shook her head and shrugged. "You should trust the Force, Leia. Trust your feelings. And resume your training."

Stunned, Leia watched as the diminutive creature turned and disappeared into the bustling crowd.

* * *

 **Part 2: Leia and Rey**

In the deepest hour of the night, after only an hour or two of sleep, Leia arose from her lonely bed and tiptoed from her sleeping quarters. Boots in hand, she passed through the ship's small lounge, pausing for a moment next to the pilot's relief bunk to look down at her daughter's sleeping face.

 _Breha._

 _Rey_ , she corrected herself with an inward smile. The name suited her, and she'd given it to herself; it was hers. And somehow the change of name made it easier for Leia to draw a line between her sorrow over the daughter who'd been lost, and her joy over the one who had returned.

Rey, in repose, was the most stunningly beautiful sight Leia could remember seeing. The amber lights from the nearby console limned her smooth features in gold, and cast a shimmer on her dark hair. They'd talked long into the night, until they had both been drained of tears and overtaken by exhaustion. Scanning Rey's young face, Leia's heart swelled with an emotion that only yesterday morning had seemed too remote ever to be reached again. The aching joy she felt was deeply bittersweet. Han had gone to Starkiller Base with fading hopes of bringing their son home, and although he'd failed in that effort, and the loss was bitter beyond bearing, he'd somehow managed to send their precious daughter home instead.

Leaving Rey in peace, Leia made her way out to the landing field where she stopped to pull her boots on. Straightening, she looked up at the distant, twinkling stars, then around her at the mostly deserted landscape. At this hour, only a few essential personnel could be seen moving around, setting things in place for the coming eventful days. Soon there would be a brief memorial ceremony for those they'd lost, a chance to say a final goodbye to the heroes who had sacrificed themselves to make a difference in their fight against the First Order. Han would be among those honoured, of course; his contributions to their long fight were among the most significant and abiding. Leia's heart clenched in grief.

The _Millennium Falcon_ squatted at the far edge of the field where Chewbacca had set it down, a darker shadow against the deep blue-black of the pre-dawn sky. Walking towards it across the near-deserted landing area, she passed the place where she'd welcomed Rey the day before. Her knotted heart expanded again, swelling with love and wonder at the stunning turn of events. She thought of Maz's words to her about Han and his intuitions about Rey. Had he known? Maz seemed to think so. The suggestion gave Leia a small measure of comfort, but she wished with all her heart that they could have celebrated her homecoming together.

Continuing her solitary procession towards the _Falcon_ , Leia looked for any signs of Chewbacca's presence on board. Her anxious anticipation of her daughter's return yesterday had been underpinned by a growing dread of seeing her friend—Han's most steadfast companion—walking down the ramp alone. Chewie, more than anyone else in the galaxy, would share her devastation, and she was afraid of what would happen when they looked into each other's eyes.

She needn't have worried, however. Chewbacca seemed to share her dread, busying himself at first with looking after the injured boy, Finn, and avoiding her gaze. As soon as the boy was in the care of the medics, the Wookiee had exchanged a few words with Rey, slung a bulging pack and his bowcaster over his shoulder and disappeared into the nearby woods. His avoidance pained Leia, but she understood it completely. They would speak soon, she knew, but only when they both could bear it.

The _Falcon_ 's access control panel gave her pause, while she considered the fact that the codes had likely been changed many times over the years, as the stolen freighter changed hands from one thief to the next. But she knew Han, and she wasn't surprised when the sequence she entered produced the metallic thunk and hydraulic hiss that portended the lowering of the boarding ramp.

Hesitantly, at first, and then with increasing determination, she stepped up the sloping surface and into the curving corridor. The familiar smells flooded her senses first; of grease and rust, burnt metal and damp Wookiee. Stepping to the right and around the bend, she bypassed the corridor leading to the cockpit and entered the lounge area. Her swimming eyes took in the sight of the curved seat around the _dejarik_ table, where she'd sat so many times for meals and conversations with Han and Chewie on their long journeys together.

She blinked to clear her vision and scanned the space, taking in the alterations that the interim owners had made since she'd last seen the main hold. There had been a few minor modifications, but Chewbacca's extended bunk was unchanged. Moving with increasing trepidation into the curving corridor beyond, she came to the galley kitchen bordering the area at the back of the ship that had been their private space together. Beyond it, she could see the sleeping quarters and the bunk that Han had further modified to make room for her to sleep beside him.

Stepping hesitantly into the room, her aching heart flooded with memories; of the long, fateful trip to Bespin so many years ago, when she'd finally allowed herself to love and to be loved; of lying curled up in that bunk with Han, exploring and enjoying each other, revelling in the intimacy of their profound connection; making love and making plans. She heard the echo of passionate arguments that had made the corridors ring with their shouting, and passionate reconciliations that had soothed them into contented silence.

 _And what has become of all our passion, Han?_

 _What do we have to show for it?_

"Leia?"

Rey's voice echoed down the passageway from the main hold, and jolted Leia out of her reverie. She realised with a start that her face was wet with tears. She hadn't cried so much in years. Scrubbing at her stinging eyes, she cleared her throat and called out.

"I'm here."

Rey's footsteps echoed on the deck plates as she made her way to the rear of the ship. Leia met her in the galley kitchen, her shoulders straightened and her face composed. It was such a strange confusion of emotions that touched her heart when Rey rounded the corner and gave her a tentative smile. The profound sense of loneliness she felt, wandering around Han's empty ship without him, contrasted sharply to the bounding sense of joy she felt at seeing their daughter in this space.

For a fleeting moment, Leia recalled the sturdy, dark-haired toddler who had dogged Han's heels at every step. As soon as she could walk, she'd been right behind him, trekking tirelessly in his wake as he worked, continually getting in the way as she "helped" Han keep the old freighter in shape. By the age of four, she'd already begun to show a keen interest in flying—and Han had already begun to teach her the basics. He'd been uncharacteristically patient with her endless questions, clearly more in his element with their daughter's predilections than with their son's. Rey had been extremely fond of Chewbacca, too, and he of her. With a natural talent for languages, she'd picked up an understanding of Shyriiwook with ease, even attempting a faint imitation of it that made Chewie roar with amusement.

Looking at Rey now, Leia smiled at the recollection of those long-ago times, and reached for her daughter. Rey moved with alacrity into her embrace, wrapping her arms around Leia's shoulders and resting her cheek against Leia's head. She was nearly as tall as Han, Leia realised, tightening her grip around Rey's slender frame. After a moment, Rey pulled back and met her gaze.

"I heard you leaving," Rey said, an anxious question behind her eyes. "I thought—well, I hope you don't mind me following you here."

"Not at all," Leia said, reassuringly. She placed a loving hand along the girl's soft cheek and gave her a warm smile. "I'm glad you're here. I was just..." She trailed off, not sure what she was doing.

 _Trying to say goodbye._

Rey seemed to understand without being told. Her bright hazel eyes filled with tears and her grip on Leia's arm tightened. Before she could speak, Leia gave herself a little shake and took a step back.

"Come on. Show me what you remember about this old hunk of junk."

They made their way to the cockpit, pausing together at the threshold to gaze for a moment at the empty chairs.

"I used to sneak on board all the time," Rey confessed softly. "Unkar Plutt would have scalped me if he ever found out, but I was careful. It was so familiar, somehow. It felt like home." She turned a shining gaze on Leia and smiled tremulously. "And now I know why."

Leia swallowed hard and nodded. "You spent a lot of time here. We all did."

She flinched inwardly at the last memory of her family in this crowded cockpit; Chewie in the co-pilot's seat with young Rey on his lap, gruffly answering her curious questions, and batting playfully at her small hands to keep her from touching anything too important; lanky, silent Ben slumped in the seat behind; Leia in her customary position behind Han, and Han with his hands on the controls, taking them down through the atmosphere to the planet below where Luke waited to receive his new initiates. The memory of that trip made her shudder, considering its consequences.

Rey brushed against her shoulder as she moved through the entrance, angling for Chewbacca's chair. Leia stopped her with a touch and directed her to the captain's seat, then moved into the co-pilot position herself. They settled back and sat for a moment in silence, lost in their private thoughts. Leia gazed vacantly at the winking lights on the slumbering console and at their reflections in the transparent enclosure. Maz's departing words resonated in her mind.

 _You should trust the Force, Leia._

During her childhood on Alderaan, and throughout her service in the Imperial Senate, Leia had used the Force naturally, without really knowing what she was doing. She now understood that her gift for diplomacy, and her ability to read people—to sense their true feelings, to detect lies or ulterior motives—were ways in which the Force showed itself in her, and those skills had served her well over the years. Luke had also pointed out that her capacity to withstand torture—such as she'd endured aboard the first _Death Star_ at their father's hands—was also likely a manifestation of her abilities, along with her resistance to being mind-controlled or manipulated through the Force. In the years following the Battle of Endor, she'd undertaken training with Luke, feeling a certain responsibility to learn to use the power effectively and to guard against its potential for misuse, if only to protect herself and her family.

The thought of her family brought a rush of confused emotions flooding into Leia's heart. She glanced over at the young woman reclining in Han's chair, and felt some of her inner turmoil easing. This one treasure, at least, had been restored to her. And as much as she enjoyed gazing at Rey and having her physically close, Leia was also profoundly grateful for the fact that she could once again sense her daughter's presence in the Force. Although she'd long ago mastered the skills that she considered most useful—telepathy, telekinesis, meditation and some aspects of mind control—she'd appreciated most of all the ability to sense her loved ones in that invisible dimension, wherever they'd roamed in the galaxy. And it was the inexplicable loss of the power to sense her daughter that had been particularly agonizing in the aftermath of Ben's betrayal. Her daughter's presence in the Force had simply vanished on that day, and neither Luke nor Leia had been able to conjure her again.

Since those dark days, Leia had grown deeply wary of the Force, and increasingly bitter at its uselessness in helping her to save her own family. She'd subsequently spent many years trying to avoid thinking about it, repulsed now by the many negative associations it held for her: the corruption of her father; the death of her mother; the isolation of her brother and, most of all, the devastating loss of both son and daughter. So many lives—billions of them—had been lost in the wretched, futile struggle for power and control.

 _And now Han is gone, too._

That harsh reality brought with it the same plunging horror it always did, every time the knowledge invaded her thoughts. Maz's words seemed to have unhinged her capacity for self-control, and she was struggling to regain it. She gave a little shake of her head, trying to quell the intense grief she felt over losing Han, and the pain of knowing that their own son had struck the killing blow. It was simply too much to bear, and she felt her grip on her emotions beginning to slip.

 _Trust your feelings._

The silent command gnawed at her like a Mynock chewing on power cables. Why had Maz's last words disturbed her so? Not just the admonition to open herself to the Force, but something else. Something about the way she spoke of Han, as if he were still alive, and as if Leia should know that.

 _How could you know? You turned away from hope to spare yourself pain. You sealed yourself off from the one thing..._

Leia sighed and closed her eyes, finally giving in to the persistent internal exhortation. In the companionable silence of the _Falcon_ 's cockpit, with their daughter at her side, she allowed herself to think about Han, to picture him clearly, without permitting grief or regret to cloud her mind. A quiet recollection crept in as she opened herself to it. In the fading aftermath of that sickening moment when she'd been overwhelmed by Ben's obscene triumph, his foul gratification, there had been a flicker of something else: the distant and fading—but very distinct—essence of Han Solo.

She had immediately and bitterly dismissed it as wishful thinking, especially when she was unable to reproduce the sense of connection later on. And the return of Chewbacca without his partner, coupled with the long and painful conversation she'd had with Rey last night, had extinguished all hope. The facts were bare. Chewie had witnessed it, as had Rey. And Finn, too, although she'd not yet heard his account of it. Not only had Han suffered a lightsaber wound to the chest, he'd then fallen away into the depths, and the entire station had crumbled to dust shortly thereafter. There could be no doubt. And yet...

 _Trust your feelings._

With another frustrated shake of her head, Leia looked over at Rey again. The girl had drawn her feet up into the chair, wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin. She was now gazing at the brightening sky beyond the cockpit enclosure, deep in thought, with a serene expression on her face.

For an instant, Leia considered asking her about her use of the Force and her power to communicate through it. Leia had gathered from their long conversation that the considerable power Rey had displayed as a child had not diminished; in fact, it seemed to have grown, even without cultivation or guidance. Leia considered telling her about Maz's words and seeking her input, but thought better of it. Planting that suggestion—that Han might be alive—would be extremely unkind after what Rey had just been through.

With a deep sigh, she allowed her head to rock back against the tall seat cushion and closed her eyes. With Maz's command ringing in her ears, she tried again to reach out to him.

 _I'm here._

The silence stretched into eternity. Outside the cockpit enclosure, dawn was breaking.

 _Can you hear me?_

The answering flicker flared for a moment, and then faded as the sun rose over the horizon.

Leia opened her eyes.

* * *

 **Note:** In the original version of this story, I named their lost daughter "Jaina" (for lack of any other suitable options that occurred to me at the time). But on reflection it makes much more sense to me that, if she were named after anyone, it would be Leia's beloved adopted mother. There's also the matter of the similarity in sound between "Breha" (which I would pronounce "bray-ah") and the name Rey, which also makes more sense. So, I've changed it throughout.


	5. Chapter 5: Han

Remain in Light – Chapter 5: Han by Erin Darroch

 **Ratings/Warnings (this chapter)** : T; mild language; themes; angst

 **Chapter 5: Han**

Han groaned. Moving his right arm was agony. Reaching with his left, he gripped the edge of the shallow basin and pulled himself with some effort into a sitting position. He paused, feeling breathless and sore, but not quite as bad as he'd expected to feel. In fact, he felt remarkably well, all things considered. He risked another look down at the wound in his chest. The orange gel was dribbling out of the cavity now, trickling down the skin of his pectoral muscle to drip onto his lap. Disturbed by the sight, he looked away, uncomfortably aware that gel was likewise leaking from the corresponding exit wound in his back. A quick check under the light grey blanket confirmed that he was otherwise intact.

 _Now what?_

He listened for any sound of returning feet in the corridor, but heard nothing. He found it peculiar that they'd left him alone and unguarded. Clearly he was Phasma's prisoner. Were they so confident that he wouldn't try to escape? Maybe because there was no possibility of escape. He had no concept of how much time had passed since he'd lost consciousness on the transport. He knew that he was aboard a First Order hospital station, but he could be anywhere in the galaxy by now. If there were no long-range ships docked here, he could be well and truly trapped.

He glanced around the room again, this time looking for anything resembling communication equipment. If he could reach Leia, tell her where he was, she would send help—of that, he was certain. There was a small administrative station in the far corner, upon which perched a basic computer unit, a data pad and a tidy stack of flimsies. The wall-mounted display screen was alight with a changing display of health-related news items, messages and images. As he watched, trying to decide if it would be worth the effort to heave himself over the edge of the basin and try to reach the computer before Mellor's return, the screen changed to an illustration of a pregnant human female. It was a cross-section of the figure, showing the optimum position of a human foetus prior to delivery. As he watched, the image changed to show variations on foetal position. Text flashed across the bottom of the screen, but it was too far away for Han to read. He looked away, thinking of his wife and children.

Leia's second pregnancy had been, by contrast with the first, a perfect dream. Untroubled by the persistent sickness that had plagued her pregnancy with Ben, Leia's health and happiness had bloomed, as her belly had swelled with the surprise that was their daughter.

And Breha had been in every way a surprise, Han reflected. She'd been unplanned—Leia had forgotten to get her annual contraceptive booster, and Han had long ago stopped bothering to get his own—but she'd been eagerly welcomed by them all, nevertheless. Even Ben, who by that time had already begun to display some worrisome characteristics, had seemed excited and happy to welcome the new baby. Despite the age difference, it had taken no convincing for him to leave his habitual, self-imposed isolation in order to interact with her, once she'd grown old enough to recognise him and to respond to his presence. Han and Leia had marvelled at Breha's lively and cheerful nature, so unlike Ben's own serious, intense disposition. And despite his natural reserve, Ben had taken readily to the role of big brother, often demonstrating a deep fondness for his little sister and a high tolerance for being used as a climbing frame. For the first few years, the siblings had been affectionate—even close. But that had all changed as soon as Breha grew old enough to display her considerable natural abilities in the use of the Force.

Frowning at the memory, Han looked back at the display screen and was relieved to see that the image had changed. There was still no sign of Mellor's return, nor yet of Captain Phasma or the other medic.

 _Right, Solo. Time to move._

His ambition proved to be mightier than his ability, however. The interior of the basin was slick with gel residue, as was his skin. Extending his right arm to grasp the edge of the tank took all of his concentration. With gritted teeth he tried to pull himself fully upright and, with some dismay, felt something tear deep within the obscene cavity that marred his chest. His vision swam and he paused to rest.

 _Okay, maybe_ _ **not**_ _time to move._

Hoping that he hadn't done too much damage, Han eased into a more comfortable sitting position. Bracing himself with this right hand, he grabbed the blanket from his lap and used it to swab some of the gel from his legs and torso, gingerly avoiding the gaping wound. Re-assessing his situation, he sighed. No weapon. No communicator. No clothes. No idea where he was or why they wanted him. He wished for a moment that he had some ability of his own with the Force. He thought it would be nice sometimes to just whip out the old Jedi mind trick and make people do what he wanted them to do. When Phasma turned up, he could just order her to give him a blaster and a ship, and then tell her to go throw herself down another garbage chute.

 _The Force. The Jedi. The Dark Side._

The words were bitter in his mind. Han wished he'd never heard of it, any of it. He wished instead that he'd taken his payment from the Rebels thirty-four years ago, and disappeared with Chewie to the Outer Rim. If he'd done that, he would now have no murderous, psychopathic son; no missing daughter; no heartbroken wife.

 _Ah, Leia._

He sighed and shook his head. No, he didn't wish any of that. Not at all. Even in light of all that had happened to them and between them, he would never wish away what they'd had together. As he'd said to Leia not long ago, it hadn't been all bad, not by a long shot. In fact, much of it had been very good indeed.

For a couple of years after the fall of the Empire, Leia had taken a step back from her intense involvement in politics. They'd finally been able to enjoy extended periods of time together, and had eventually celebrated their marriage with a formal, public ceremony—something Han hadn't imagined he would ever do—followed by a lengthy and memorable honeymoon. On their return, Leia had begun working with Luke to hone her skills in the Force, and had subsequently taken on a diplomatic role that required her to make regular jaunts around the galaxy on missions for the New Republic, which allowed Han to accompany her as pilot, escort and unofficial consultant.

Those years hadn't just been good, Han thought. They'd been _great_.

In the first years of their marriage, they'd simply revolved around each other, relieved and happy to be free of war, bounty hunters, and the uncertainty of long separations. Later on, as Leia's political career with the New Republic had flourished, Han and Chewie had established their own galactic freight company, with primary terminals on both Coruscant and Kashyyyk where they could co-manage the business and still spend time with their respective families. His and Leia's decision to have a child together at that point had been a carefully considered choice, and they'd immersed themselves in their new roles with enthusiasm. To his own surprise, Han had been more than merely _content_ with that settled family life; he'd revelled in it and found it deeply satisfying. And the birth of Breha, the sweetest surprise, had made it even better. They'd enjoyed several more happy years together, then, much of that period in their home on Corellia, with regular extended periods in Coruscant, and occasional visits to Kashyyyk.

 _Good times_ , Han recalled. _There were plenty of good times._

The troubles with Ben had become too conspicuous to ignore when Breha began to demonstrate an exceptional ability to manipulate the Force. Ben had seemed upset by it, and then to become increasingly envious and resentful of her precociousness. A visit from Luke to the home they kept on Corellia had raised serious concerns when Ben was twelve years old. Luke had long resisted offering any sort of training to Ben because—although the boy was clearly sensitive to the Force—his nature seemed too volatile, his ambition too keen. Luke and Leia both were especially wary of creating another Vader, so Ben's pleas to be trained as a Jedi had been gently but repeatedly turned aside. Time and again, Leia and Han had tried to engage him in other interests, to foster his other talents. And neither of them had relished the idea of being separated from their son, of sending him so far away. But Ben had become increasingly fixated, intransigent on the subject.

More disturbingly, when Ben learned from Leia the identity of her father, he hadn't been horrified or appalled, as he should have been. On the contrary, he'd seemed amazed and excited by the information. Leia was discomfited by his interest and sharply rebuked him whenever he seemed over-eager to learn more about his grandfather. In response, Ben had become sullen and secretive, then openly hostile. A few years later, the news of Luke and Leia's true parentage had been leaked to galactic media sources, effectively ending Leia's career with the New Republic. After that, Leia began voicing fears that something sinister was at work—that a malevolent presence was interfering with Ben through the Force. A frightening, Force-fuelled confrontation between Ben and Leia had resulted in an abrupt change of heart for Han and Leia both. Realising that their daughter, too, would eventually need guidance from Luke, and hoping that the concession would soothe Ben's agitated feelings on the matter—and help him to learn to control himself—they'd taken the difficult decision to send both of their children to the Jedi academy.

It had all gone to hell from there.

Abruptly, Han became aware of the sound of people running. Coming down the corridor in his direction he could hear what sounded like multiple booted feet hitting the metal plates. With few other options open to him, he simply waited, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. Given the fact that he was sitting in his bare skin in a puddle of cooling gel, with everything he owned of any value under a borrowed blanket, he reckoned he looked fairly harmless.

"Fool! You left him alone? Get in there!" Phasma's voice was followed in short order by the woman herself. She skidded through the hatch along with two stormtroopers, followed closely by the two medics.

Bemused, Han watched as Phasma took in the sight of him sitting up in the shallow tank, naked to the waist with a crumpled blanket in his lap. He gave her his most charming grin.

" _Relax_ , will ya? I ain't going anywhere." His flippant remark was ignored as the stormtroopers advanced and Phasma turned menacingly on the medics.

"Restrain him! Now!"

Mellor hurried to comply, moving swiftly behind Han to reach the tab at the back that would activate the upper-body restraints. Astor advanced to Han's side, casting a look of scorn over his shoulder at the towering stormtrooper captain.

"Please lie back, Captain Solo," he said politely, his voice calm.

Moving gingerly, Han did as he was ordered, grimacing with pain as he flexed the muscles in his right arm and his chest. He lowered himself back onto the cold gel-covered surface and waited while Mellor engaged the barest of restraints under his arms and across his chest. Warily, he eyed Phasma up and down, taking in every detail of the highly polished armour. He hoped she would soon show her hand. Perhaps she intended to try to use him against Leia, to manipulate the Resistance into some sort of compromise? He wouldn't give her good odds on that one.

"There you are," Astor said, not bothering to disguise his sarcasm. "The helpless old man with no clothes, no weapon, and _a hole in his chest_ is safely restrained."

Without a word, Phasma grabbed the front of Astor's tunic in her gloved fist and shoved him with considerable force out of the way. With an indignant cry, he stumbled and fell backwards, crashing against one of the metal tables. He glared at her and straightened, but opted to keep any additional commentary to himself.

"This 'helpless old man' is _Han Solo_ ," Phasma growled, jabbing a metal-clad finger in Han's direction. "Do not leave him conscious and alone again. He may not look very impressive, but I assure you he's entirely capable of causing me—and you—a great deal of trouble."

Han rolled his eyes. What the hell was she talking about? Even _he_ had to concede that his troublemaking capacity was, for the moment, greatly diminished. Ensign Mellor, considerate as ever, appeared in his peripheral vision, bending to operate a lever that lifted the head of the basin slightly, raising Han's upper body into an angle of recline more suitable for conversation.

Turning to face Han, Phasma got straight to the point.

"You will tell me the location of the Resistance base," Phasma informed him, her voice ringing behind the chromium mask, "and when you have fully recovered, I'll see to it that you are returned there, unharmed."

For a long moment, he simply stared at her, incredulous and somewhat offended.

Finally, he gave a short, humourless laugh and rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, alright. You think I'm stupid. I get it."

"No, I think you're a very clever man, Solo. So I am certain you'll be able to understand this." She moved closer to where he lay and, reaching up, removed her helmet. The shining chromium gave way to an ordinary face; a handsome woman approaching middle age, with fair skin and blonde hair, tendrils of which were curling damply around her flushed cheeks. She tucked the helmet under one arm and said, "You and I have the same goal."

"Oh?" Han waited. He was fairly certain that whatever came out of her mouth would be a lie, but he wanted to hear it nevertheless.

"You want nothing more than to block the path your son is on, and so do we. I know a way to do that."

"'We'? Who's 'we'?" Han asked, not particularly interested, but playing along. "Don't you all work for the same _chulak_?"

"We are the only ones standing between your son and the _destiny_ ," she spat the word at him, "that he is so desperately trying to achieve for himself."

Han tried to maintain a neutral expression, but the echo of Ben's chilling voice was still in his head, unnerving him. He didn't know if he would ever be free of it.

 _I know what I have to do, but I don't know if I have the strength to do it._

"You understand me, Solo?" Phasma sounded impatient, as if time were running out to gain his agreement. "We want to stop him, and so do you."

 _Will you help me?_

 _Yes, anything._

"I don't know how releasing me will help you do that," Han said, finally. No point in prevaricating. He really didn't see where she was going with her plan.

Phasma hesitated a moment, measuring him with her eyes. "You are your son's greatest weakness," she said finally, with certainty. "He believes you to be dead now, and he is counting on that fact to help him curry favour with his master."

 _Snoke._

Han's mouth filled with bitter bile at the thought of the creature who had corrupted his son and destroyed his family. Lifting his chin and turning his head, he spat onto the clinic floor.

"Yeah? Well, I guess he'll be disappointed."

"Exactly," Phasma said, leaning in to emphasise her point. "What Kylo Ren wants more than anything is to be fully trained as a Jedi, and killing you was a task set for him by his master as a _condition_ of that training. If he has failed the task, it will go against him. He will _not_ be trained."

Han stared at her, wondering what the hell he'd ever done to deserve his life taking such a nightmarish turn.

 _A task?_ That's _what that was?_

Anger swelled in his chest and filled his throat, threatening to choke him. He gritted his teeth, struggling to master his rage. Finally, he was able to draw a breath. The act caused a flare of pain in this chest that began to grow in intensity. The meds were wearing off.

"What's in it for you?" he sneered, glaring at Phasma in an effort to disguise his pain.

"Political gain," she answered smoothly, as if she had imagined this conversation and practised her reply in advance. "With Kylo Ren out of the way, my colleagues and I will advance unimpeded. It's that simple."

Han doubted it was that simple. Nothing was ever that simple. Out of the corner of his eye, Han saw Astor and Mellor leaning together in whispered conversation. The two stormtroopers stood by, silently at the ready. He glanced around the room again, weighing up his options. To die now, as a result of Ben's "task", would be to give Snoke exactly what he wanted. To live on would negate the act, or at least mitigate it, but it would also play straight into the hands of Phasma and her faction, whatever their motives might be. Phasma was waiting. Han scowled.

 _I hate politics._

"Alright. You want me to live. That works for me." He shifted uncomfortably on the cold, wet plastic and rubbed his face against his clammy left arm. The acute discomfort in his chest had turned into an unpleasant burning sensation that was spreading to his back. "I want to live, too. So just let me go. Give me a ship and I'll be on my way."

"I can't do that." Phasma had that answer ready, too. "I need you back in the hands of the Resistance." She said the word with some distaste. "Don't you want to see your wife again?"

Han winced at the thought of Leia. If Chewbacca, Rey and Finn had made it out safely, she would soon learn of his fate, if she hadn't already. He thought of her meeting Rey and wondered if Leia would come to the same conclusions about her that he had, or if he'd simply been imagining things. Wishful thinking. Again, he felt the urgent need to try to communicate with Leia, realising with dismay that there was little likelihood of any such opportunity arising.

"My wife is long gone," he told Phasma matter-of-factly. "The Resistance base will have moved by now. I can't tell you where they are."

"But you know how to find them. I know that you do," Phasma fixed her blue eyes on him, urging him to agree. "A man of your type can always—"

"Nope," Han interrupted with an impatient shake of his head. "My usual point of contact for keeping up with their movements was blown to hell by your _colleagues_." Han put as much venom as he could into the words. He was sure that Maz had escaped the destruction of her castle; she had an uncanny knack for survival. But he had no idea where she might have gone from there. Well, he had _some_ idea, but he wasn't going to let on to Captain Fantastic here. "If you don't want to give me a ship, just drop me off, anywhere you like. I'll still be alive, the way you want it. Everybody's happy."

"You disappearing without a trace is virtually the same as you dying," Phasma informed him, dryly. "Kylo Ren needs to see that you are alive. More importantly, Snoke needs to see that. He already suspects that Kylo Ren is not fully committed to the path he is on. Your son seems to battle daily with his better nature."

Han wanted that to be true. He wanted it desperately. The first sight of Ben's unmasked face in over ten years had given him hope, for a fleeting moment on that bridge, that he would see something of his beloved boy there. Some warmth, some recognition. _Anything_. But the bitter truth was that, in that moment, Han had seen the reality of what his son had become. For as long as he lived, he would be haunted by the memory of Ben's face shading to bloody red, the cold detachment in his dark eyes and the flash of triumph and satisfaction when he'd ignited his lightsaber.

Phasma restated her premise, with emphasis. "Snoke needs to see that Kylo Ren is unable or unwilling to carry out the task of dispatching his own father as directed. Your resurrection from the dead will provide irrefutable proof that Kylo Ren is weak, and inept, at least. But Snoke will also understand that he lacks commitment, and is unfit to be trained as a Jedi."

"Ah," said Han, finally, with a humourless smile. "You want a spectacle."

Typical. Politics and propaganda, always hand-in-hand. Phasma had snatched him from the stinking midden in the bowels of Starkiller Base, and arranged for this expensive and highly effective medical treatment, just so she could use him as a pawn in her political manoeuvring. He was disgusted, but not surprised.

Astor cleared his throat and shifted his feet in his position across the room. He was keeping his distance from Phasma, but he interrupted nevertheless. In a slightly more courteous tone than he had used before, he said, "Captain, we need to return Solo to the hydrogel treatment now. He has been out of it for too long as it stands."

Phasma ignored the medic, and regarded Solo with visible frustration. He smirked at her, realising that her options were almost as limited as his. She wanted him returned to the Resistance with some fanfare, but he would never supply the information she required to do so, even if he could. He was no fool, and he wouldn't put it past her to change her mind and use the information for other purposes.

"C'mon," he said, in an affable tone. "The solution is simple. You give me a ship, I get the hell out of here. I will rejoin the Resistance eventually and, when I do, I'll make a big song and dance about it. Even better, no one will ever know that you were involved. How's that?"

Phasma was shaking her head. "I don't know you, Solo, but I know plenty of people like you. It is far more likely that you would disappear, and the opportunity would be lost. I have a counter proposal for you." She leaned in, fixing him with a gimlet eye. "I could take you _straight to Snoke_ myself."

She got the reaction she was looking for then, he was sure. He could not hide the spike of fear and fury he felt in response to that hateful name. Her threat was not without some weight, he realised. There was no reason he could see for her to do anything other than march him straight to her boss. Why would she allow him to return to the Resistance, when she could simply display him to Snoke and then eliminate him? On the other hand, he mused, it was extremely interesting that she was even considering alternatives. To cover his confusion, he gave her his best smirk and a shrug.

"Bring it on, sister," he said, sticking out his jaw belligerently. "I have a few things I'd like to say to him before I blast his head off."

He wasn't entirely sure that his bluff was convincing, but before Phasma could respond, the gel tank beneath him began to beep. Amber lights began flashing steadily along the rim of the tank walls, illuminating his chilled skin.

Moving quickly, Mellor positioned himself at the side of the shallow tank between Phasma and Han. He busied himself with controls and switches, casting a reassuring glance in Han's direction as he worked.

Astor spoke again, this time more firmly. He advanced to stand at the foot of Han's bed, forcing one of the stormtroopers to give way as he did so. "Apologies, Captain, but we must return him to his treatment. He has made remarkable progress, but any further delay may have negative consequences for his full recovery."

Phasma took a step back to allow the medics to work, but she continued to regard Han thoughtfully. After a moment, she gave a curt nod, as if making up her mind.

"Very well, Solo. You are in no condition to be moved just now, in any case. I'll consider my options while you continue your treatment." With a gesture, she brought the two stormtroopers to attention, ready to follow her out of the room. "When I return, we will come to some agreement."

With that, she turned on her heel and exited, lifting the helmet to her head as she stalked down the corridor away from the hospital room, the two troopers in her wake. With a sigh, Han leaned his head back to rest in the bed of the medical basin. Mellor and Astor continued their preparations, removing the meagre restraint across his chest and returning the shallow tank to its horizontal position.

With deep weariness and resignation, Han submitted to the administration of a sedative as Mellor approached with the mask and breathing tube in his hands. As his awareness faded, Han thought of Leia again. He had the sudden sensation that she was nearby, calling out to him. The feeling was powerful but fleeting, and he couldn't hold onto it.

 _I'm here._

He blinked rapidly and moved his head in agitation, trying without success to fight off the effects of the sedation.

 _Can you hear me?_

It was no use. The drugs were potent and were already coursing through his system, pulling him under. He closed his eyes and sank into darkness.


	6. Chapter 6: Leia

Remain in Light – Chapter 6: Leia by Erin Darroch

 **Ratings/Warnings (this chapter)** : T; themes; angst

 **Chapter 6: Leia**

* * *

 **Part 1:**

"We'll see each other again," said Rey, struggling to hold back her tears. "I believe that." She bent down to kiss the forehead of her unconscious friend, then watched his face intently, as if hoping to see some response. After a moment, she seemed to accept the sad reality of his condition, and turned away.

From a short distance, Leia observed the scene in solemn silence, feeling her daughter's sorrow as keenly as if it were her own. By Rey's account, the boy Finn had saved her life, intervening between herself and Ben when the latter seemed intent upon killing or capturing her. Finn, with extraordinary bravery, had lifted a borrowed lightsaber and wielded it in Rey's defence as she lay stunned and helpless in the snow. For that reason, if for no other, Leia was now deeply in his debt. She would look after him and, if possible, see him restored to Rey's side. It was good to have allies, and loyal friends could make all the difference to a life lived with meaning, or a life without it.

She watched her daughter lingering near the entrance to the medical centre, as if reluctant to step away for the last time. It was hard to say goodbye. Leia knew that better than anyone. And today, she would say goodbye again to the daughter she'd only just recovered. The days since Rey's arrival with Chewbacca on board the _Millennium Falcon_ had passed all too quickly and, although they'd made the most of their brief time together, it would never be enough. For Leia, forever would be too short a time to spend in Rey's company. After so many years apart, it was appalling to think of letting her child walk aboard another ship to disappear again. Leia shuddered and went to meet her daughter.

Rey had finally stepped away from the medical centre and was now sitting in a patch of sunshine on the edge of one of the large, squat water tanks that served the adjoining shelter. A strong breeze gusted through the compound, stirring tendrils of her dark hair to flutter across her pensive face. She put on a show of interest in the bustling activity of the base as it was being dismantled, but to Leia's eyes she looked disconsolate. As Leia drew near and extended her arms, Rey's shoulders slumped. She leaned forward into her mother's comforting embrace and rested her cheek against Leia's shoulder.

"He'll be alright," Leia said soothingly. "Dr. Kalonia is confident about that. He's healing very quickly. It will just take a little more time and he'll be back in action."

The medic had indeed indicated to Leia that Finn would likely recover well, given a bit more time and the judicious application of a new medical treatment that they'd recently acquired. But Leia knew that nothing short of seeing Finn on his feet would make Rey feel any better.

Rey was nodding against her shoulder. "I know. I just wish that I could be in both places at once," she said, sitting back and giving Leia a tremulous smile. "It's hard to leave, not knowing what will happen."

"Then stay here," Leia said gently. "You don't have to go. Chewie has known Luke for a long time; he's perfectly capable of finding him and bringing him back."

The towering Wookiee had returned from his solitary sojourn into the woods, and had finally spoken with Leia about Han. The conversation had been more painful to Leia than she'd even imagined it would be, and her heart had broken all over again at seeing Chewbacca's misery, a despondent echo of her own. She recognised that Chewie needed something active and useful to do while he considered his next steps. For over forty years he'd been by Han's side and, although he had a family of his own to return to on Kashyyyk, he seemed to want to extend his time with the Resistance, at least for the time being. Touched, Leia had readily accepted when he'd volunteered to go to Luke. She'd been less ready to accept Rey's decision to accompany him.

"I want to go. Chewie needs a co-pilot," Rey asserted, not for the first time, with a lift of her delicate chin. "It would be difficult for him to fly the _Falcon_ , without ...".

His name drifted silently between them, like a leaf on the wind. Leia gripped Rey's slender arm for a moment, swallowing hard against the rise of emotions that continually threatened to swamp her self-control. She smiled sadly at Rey, and nodded.

For a while, they sat together in companionable silence, watching the ceaseless flow of people and equipment as they went about the business of stripping down the temporary structures of the quasi-military base. D'Qar would soon join the long list of places that Leia no longer called home, ever since Ben's catastrophic betrayal and the shattering of her family. She sighed.

Leia knew that Chewbacca could easily manage to fly the _Falcon_ alone, but Rey, too, seemed to need something active and useful to do. Han's death had hit her hard, despite their relatively brief acquaintance. They'd clearly connected in a deep and meaningful way, even though Rey hadn't fully realised the nature of their connection until that first, long conversation with Leia. Rey's revelation that Han had offered her a job aboard the _Falcon_ only added another bittersweet note to Leia's grief. Although she would never know for certain, it did seem that—as Maz had asserted—Han had recognised their daughter, and that gave Leia some comfort.

Rey had connected deeply with Chewbacca, too. The two of them seemed to have picked up right where they'd left off years before, with deep affection and an unspoken understanding between them. If Rey had to leave her sight, Leia thought, at least it would be with Chewbacca, who would surely guard her with his life. He was angry beyond words at what he perceived as his failure to intervene between Han and Ben at Starkiller Base. Leia knew that he was being highly irrational, but she understood the emotion. She also understood that the only reason he'd hesitated to fire his bowcaster at Kylo Ren was because, like Han, Chewbacca had been looking for any sign of Ben, the sullen boy who had broken their hearts. Chewie hadn't voiced the thought, but Leia wondered if he regretted merely wounding her son, instead of killing him. She closed her eyes in anguish. There was no possibility of reconciling the emotions that warred within her: a deep longing for the child who had been borne in love, and the futile rage at the monster who had wrecked it all.

"I should go," Rey said quietly, breaking into her thoughts. "Chewie will be waiting for me." As she spoke, she unfolded her long legs and stood, looking down with tender affection at Leia's face. Her hazel eyes were a younger, brighter version of Han's own, and Leia felt her stomach flip at the sight, as it did every time. She nodded and joined Rey in a slow procession towards the _Falcon_. It was time, at last, to say goodbye.

Chewbacca met them at the edge of the square where the morning's memorial service had been held, and where staff were busily packing away the last meagre trappings of state, such as they were. Ordinarily, the Wookiee was genially tolerant of such ceremonies, accompanied as they often were by copious amounts of free food. But he'd been conspicuously absent from the early morning event, and Leia hadn't gone in search of him. He was grieving in his own way, and she had no desire to make things worse.

Now, walking up to the towering primate, Leia stepped into his hirsute embrace and wrapped her arms around his furry middle. He was reassuringly solid and warm, and his rumbling voice vibrated against her ear.

 _[*Goodbye, Princess.*]_

She smiled at his use of her old title. She did not answer to it now, and many of her colleagues in the Resistance had long forgotten that designation. But Chewie remembered, and she didn't mind him recalling those past times to her mind.

"Goodbye, Chewie," she said warmly, stepping back. "Take care of yourself. And look after our girl."

The latter comment was hardly necessary. For a start, Rey had demonstrated a remarkable ability to look after herself. Furthermore, it went without saying that Chewbacca would not make the same mistake twice. In their sorrowful conversation about Han, Chewie had made it clear to Leia that he recognised now just how dangerous Ben had become, and that he must be stopped. If Kylo Ren ever again came into range of the Wookiee's bowcaster, he was unlikely to walk away from the encounter unharmed—if at all. The thought made Leia shudder. She hoped that such a confrontation would never happen. With some luck, Chewie and Rey would find Luke quickly, and deliver him to their agreed rendezvous point without incident.

She watched as the Wookiee made his way to the _Falcon_ , ushering R2-D2 before him. The sudden reactivation of Luke's droid had been as mysterious and perplexing as any of the other strange developments of the last few days, and Leia suspected that they were all connected. The idea prompted thoughts of the Force and the terrible—and wonderful—impact it continued to have on her life. After a last, lingering embrace with Rey, Leia stepped back to watch her daughter depart. To her amazement, beyond all expectations, her heart was full of love and hope again, even as she grieved for Han and all that they'd lost. She thought of Maz Kanata, and reflected without cynicism on the "wondrous" and "marvellous" workings of the galaxy. An impulse moved her to speak.

"Rey," Leia called softly, and smiled as her daughter turned in response. "May the Force be with you."

* * *

 **Part 2:**

 _I've always hated watching you leave._

Standing by as the _Falcon_ lifted off, Leia reflected miserably on the fact that Han was not at the helm, nor ever would be again. She'd wrestled back and forth with that reality over the past few days, particularly after that quiet morning in the cockpit with Rey. As the sun had peeked over the horizon, slanting through the cockpit canopy, she'd felt his presence again, a distant but very distinct flame that flared for a moment in the darkest reaches of her soul. And then the flame had gone out.

The repetition of that agonizing sensation had been too much to bear, and Leia had resolved to stop torturing herself. Now when Maz's wizened voice floated through her head, she shut it out, tried to distract herself, or gave herself a stern lecture about the difference between fantasies and realities. Han was dead. That was a fact. To prove it to herself, she tried again a few more times over the intervening days to reach out to him through the Force. The emptiness that had answered her was devastating. With every passing hour, Leia became more convinced that those initial feelings of connection with Han had been nothing more than desperately wishful thinking and the by-products of intense grief. The rational part of her mind told her that it was absurd—and more than a little pathetic—to cling to false hope, especially in light of the evidence.

Dropping her head back to follow the path of the _Falcon_ as it soared away, she watched until it was a tiny speck against the deep blue of the sky, finally disappearing into the mesosphere. With a heavy sigh, she turned to walk back to her quarters to change out of her formal clothes and dismantle her elaborate coiffure. After that, she would order the deconstruction of her private quarters, and return to her post in the command centre to oversee the final decampment.

As she made her way through the compound, she considered Maz's parting words to her a few days before. Those words had haunted her thoughts, suggesting as they had that Han was still alive, and that Leia should use her abilities with the Force to reach out to him. Craving any kind of comfort—and mindful of the fact that Maz had been completely correct in her predictions about the return of her daughter—she'd made the attempt one last time, only to fail again. She was unable to reproduce any sense of connection with Han, and the futility of it frustrated and distressed her.

However, against her better judgement, she continued to be intrigued anew by the notion of the Force and the powers it conveyed to those whose physical existence had seemingly come to an end. Luke had spoken to her of his ghostly encounters and conversations with his mentors Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda after their deaths. Once, he had tried to talk to her about a similar communion with their father, Anakin Skywalker. Her response to that revelation, however, had not been very favourable, and Luke had never brought it up again.

As absurd as it seemed, Leia regarded the notion of an afterlife to be a pleasant fiction that was proving, at least at the moment, to be useful. On a deeper level, she recognised that it was merely a coping mechanism that was helping her to get through each day. She realised that, sooner or later, she would have to accept the reality that she would never see Han again. As she entered her private quarters, she reminded herself that she was long accustomed to grief and loss, and that she would somehow find the strength to endure this, too. In the meantime, she was somewhat comforted by the suggestion that Han's spirit and mind, at least, could still be out there, somewhere. And perhaps one day she would be able to talk to Luke about how to reach him.

Thinking of Luke made her think of Rey. Although the thought of her daughter once again being so far away made Leia quail inside, she'd made her decision and she was resigned to it. She was needed here on D'Qar as they prepared to move the base to a new location in the Nastasi system and, in any case, she was not entirely sure that she was ready to see her brother's face. Not yet.

Many bitter words had passed between them all those years ago and, although she regretted much of what she'd said to him then, she wasn't sure she could forget some of the things he'd said to her, particularly because at least a few of those hurtful things had been patently true. She loved her brother and she missed him terribly, but she also felt confused and angry with him for a number of reasons: for being absent from the Academy on that fateful day; for not knowing the truth about Snoke or for not acting on it; and, finally—in Leia's opinion the worst of the lot—for disappearing, leaving her and Han to deal with the aftermath alone. Added to all of that, Leia couldn't help but wonder if the terrible events at Starkiller Base would have had different outcomes if Luke had been there to confront Ben, instead of Han. With these gloomy thoughts plaguing her weary mind, she ducked into her private quarters.

A short time later, she emerged refreshed and more sensibly dressed. She gave the order to have her scant belongings collected, and the structure dismantled. Tonight, she would be sleeping aboard her command transport ship, the _Sabedoro_ , as they made their way to the first of their rendezvous points. Most of the regular transports were already on their way, and she would see to the final stages of their decampment by sunset.

On her way to the command centre, she passed the landing field where the _Sabedoro_ was perched and there she encountered Poe Dameron, who was helping to load it. Dameron was an exceptionally gifted pilot and a staunch ally of the Resistance. His parents had likewise supported the work of the Rebel Alliance and, later, the New Republic. Leia had spent a great deal of time with his mother, Shara Bey, who had served for a while as Leia's personal pilot when Poe was a child, and she frequently saw glimpses of her erstwhile companion in Poe's face.

Poe and some of the other pilots would be travelling aboard the _Sabedoro_ with Leia and a few others of the upper level command, as well as a cross-section of other staff. It was the standing policy of their organisation to ensure that entire units or service tiers never travelled together. In the event of an attack, they did not care to risk entire sectors of their service being wiped out.

The handsome young pilot flashed her a warm grin and moved to greet her, but then faltered slightly, as if suddenly remembering her recent personal loss and the need to adopt a slightly less jubilant tone. To cover his awkwardness, he resorted to formality.

"Good afternoon, General," he greeted her, with a small nod of respect. He'd known her all his life and they were on an easy, first-name basis, but he was also a soldier of sorts, and occasionally remembered to act like one. He glanced over her shoulder and asked, "Is your daughter not with you?"

Leia tried to hide the flinch she felt in response to the question, but she could see by the dismay on his face that she had not succeeded. She hurried to reassure him.

"It's okay, Poe. No, she left with Chewie not long ago." She didn't need to tell him where they were going. Poe had been at the very centre of the recent action. He'd undertaken missions of great risk to himself, and had suffered significant personal harm in order to bring her the information she required, and to put an end to the threat of Starkiller Base. She felt immense gratitude towards him, and a high degree of respect.

"That's too bad," Poe said, genuine regret in his voice. He squinted against the afternoon sunshine and the sudden gust of wind that ruffled his dark hair. "I would have liked to say goodbye. We met at dinner a couple of nights ago," he explained.

Leia nodded. She knew that Rey had met Dameron in the aftermath of their return to D'Qar, because Rey had asked Leia about him afterwards. Suppressing a smile, Leia recalled her daughter's candid expressions of admiration for Dameron's flying skills and the peppering of questions the girl had levelled at Leia when she learned of their close acquaintance. Rey had been plunged into a strange new world, and suffered devastating losses and setbacks in a short space of time, but she was still a young woman of nineteen, full of life. And Poe was a handsome and charming man. When he spoke again, Leia realised that he returned the interest.

"She's some girl," Poe said appreciatively. "Brave. Resourceful. And a skilled fighter, too." Any details about what had happened on Starkiller Base could only have reached Poe's ears from Rey herself, Leia realised, and she mused with some curiosity over the nature of their after-dinner conversation. Moreover, the warmth of Dameron's tone implied an appreciation of another kind, as well. Leia resisted the urge to use the Force to read his intentions, but she gave him a speculative smile and was mildly amused to see him duck his head.

"She is indeed," Leia agreed amiably, indicating with a gesture that they should walk together towards the stack of crates that Poe had been helping to ferry to the ship. Around them, a handful of personnel continued the work of loading the transport.

As they reached the collection point, a motorised freight cart pulled alongside and its driver hopped out. He sketched a quick salute in Leia's direction and swung around to begin loading up again. Poe moved to help and Leia paused to watch the two young men for a moment. She'd never been one to stand idly by when there was work to be done, but she was no longer young. And today, perhaps for the first time, she was beginning to feel her age.

Lost in contemplation for a moment, she looked up and squinted as a cloud temporarily blotted out the rays of the early afternoon sun. When she looked down, Poe was standing directly in front of her, a metal packing crate in his hands and a question in his eyes.

"Do you really think Luke Skywalker will return?" he asked abruptly, his dark eyes reflecting a lurking doubt. "After all this time? Why would he?"

"Because he must," Leia answered quietly. Rey's account of her battle with Ben in the snowy woods had chilled Leia to the bone and instilled a dread of the future that she could not shake.

 _You need a teacher,_ Ben had told her. _I can show you the ways of the Force._

The thought of Ben turning his sister over to the same monster who had corrupted him and wrecked so many lives made Leia want to vomit. Rey was powerful and she clearly remembered much of the training Luke had provided when she was very young. But that would not be enough, Leia knew. Rey needed to complete her training, and there was only one person in the galaxy who could offer her that opportunity. She fixed Poe with a fathomless gaze.

"Luke has to return," she said, "because he's our only hope."

* * *

 **Part 3:**

The _Sabedoro_ departed the first rendezvous point with a fresh supply of water and other essentials, as well as a new set of co-ordinates. Leia watched through a narrow viewport as the planet Enjo receded into the distance. Enjo had been the first stop of two they would make on their way to the Nastasi system, part of their convoluted method for minimising risk. For reasons of security, most of the ships in her small fleet would not be given their final co-ordinates until they were within a short jump of their destination. Leia sighed.

"Do you think she's made it to Luke yet?" Finn's worried voice echoed Leia's own thoughts, and it wasn't even the first time he'd asked the question since regaining consciousness two days prior, but Leia turned a reassuring smile on him nevertheless. He was sitting up in his bed in the tiny medbay, looking even better than he had the day before. Moving away from the viewport, she approached the bedside and laid a hand on his arm.

"I don't know, Finn, but try not to worry. I'm sure she'll be in touch soon." Although Leia was once again able to sense Rey through the Force—and she was reassured to know that all was well—she hadn't officially heard from the _Falcon_ by any other means since they'd departed. The extended silence only heightened Leia's longing to hear her daughter's voice again, to see her face. Finn, too, was keen to hear from Rey, and he was growing impatient with his medical confinement. Leia gave him a pointed look. "You should concentrate on getting better, if you want to be well by the time she gets back."

"I feel _great_ _!_ " Finn asserted, giving her a broad grin. She returned his smile, pleased to see how well he was doing.

The brave young man who had fought by her daughter's side and who had almost certainly saved her life at least once was recovering very quickly indeed, the beneficiary of a remarkable new intercellular immersion gel therapy that was proving to be an essential component of the medics' emergency kits. Unfortunately, the medicine was exorbitantly expensive and difficult to come by in large quantities.

For the thousandth time, Leia missed Han and his resourcefulness, not to mention his shady underground connections and his somewhat sketchy—but equally resourceful—friends. He'd run so many side missions for the Resistance over the years, it scarcely mattered that he'd long ago resigned his formal commission. He'd been part of the effort from the moment he'd winged those TIE fighters over the trenches of the first Death Star, and his fate had been inextricably entwined with that of the Rebel Alliance, first, and then of the New Republic and the emerging Resistance, ever since.

Over the past few years, their increasingly intense disagreements over Ben and what to do about him had caused Han to leave home more often and to stay away for longer stretches. He'd continued to accept the odd mission whenever the need arose for his particular set of skills, though, and he never declined a request from her if he could help it. In her heart, she knew he'd done it not so much to support the Resistance, as to have an excuse to see her, to spend a few precious hours together when the joy and pleasure of a reunion could temporarily blur the pain of all they'd lost. Repeatedly over the past few years they'd been drawn together by their shared devotion—and continually driven apart by their shared misery. The still loved each other fiercely, but the loss of both children had created a chasm over which they could find no way to cross. And that, Leia reflected with profound sorrow, was how their story had ended.

"General? Are you okay?" Finn's voice broke into her long reverie, startling her back to the present.

His eyes were roaming her face with a look of deep concern. With a sharp pang of loneliness and longing, Leia shook off her morbid thoughts. She gave his arm a reassuring pat and leaned in to plant a kiss on his stubbly cheek.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just very tired. And you should try to remember to call me Leia." She gave him another smile and moved towards the door. "I'm going to turn in. You should get some sleep, too."

Finn's dark eyes never left her as she exited the room. He was alert and restless now, and would soon be up and about. She suspected that she would need to find something useful for him to do, some suitable role to keep him occupied while he waited for Rey to return, or he would drive her slightly crazy.

* * *

 **Part 4:**

Back in her quarters, she began preparing for bed. Running through the habitual motions of plaiting her hair and brushing her teeth, she tried to keep her mind a blank, to resist the urge to reach out through the Force just one more time. She knew it wouldn't do her any good to open herself to that void and find it as empty as ever. She wanted more than anything to stop torturing herself with the irrational notion.

But an hour later, lying wide awake in her lonely bunk, she gave in.

And, just like _that_ , he was there again, like a distant twinkling star.

For a long moment, she held her breath—as if to breathe out would blow the spark away like so much dust. But when she finally exhaled, the sensation of him out there— _somewhere_ —burned steadily on. It was a distinct and familiar presence that she'd first identified right after the Battle of Endor, when she'd begun to explore her powers in the Force. Over the years, she'd refined her skills and developed the ability to identify him out of a crowd of millions, anywhere in the galaxy where he'd roamed. Now she lay rigid in the bed with her heart fluttering in her chest, trying to concentrate, to hang on to him. Without a doubt, it was Han's essence she was sensing.

 _But what does it mean? I don't understand._

Lying on her back in the darkness with her eyes closed, she felt hot tears of sorrow and frustration sliding from the corners of her eyes, trickling towards her ears and down her jaw. She could sense him, but her rational mind kept reminding her of the searing pain she'd felt the moment he'd been struck, as well as the detailed reports from Chewbacca, Rey and Finn about what had happened. Whatever this was she was feeling, it couldn't be Han, because Han was certainly _dead_. A muffled sob escaped her and she turned her face into the pillow. Holding the tiny flame in her mind like a hand cupped over a candle, she felt comforted nonetheless, and finally drifted off to an exhausted sleep.

Sometime later, in the dead of night, she bolted awake. She was riveted to the bed, transfixed by an electric connection to his unmistakable, living presence. The sensation took her breath away, as if Han himself had snatched her bodily out of bed and crushed her in a fierce hug. The flickering candle in her mind was now a blazing torch. Although she'd always been able to reach out to him, Han had been perfectly Force-blind and he'd never been able to reach back. Now, inexplicably, she felt him calling to her through that channel, yearning for her and insisting upon a response. Shaking with the intensity of it, acting on instinct, she answered in the only way she knew how, with a sort of _push_ of emotion: of joy and relief and worry—and immense love.

 _Where are you?_

Abruptly, the connection disappeared. As if a lamp had been switched off, she was in darkness once again, bereft. Her stomach did flips as she scrambled out of the bed, irrationally feeling that standing up would somehow help her reach him again. She turned in a circle, casting her senses out. With an effort, she tried to calm her breathing, to remember the lessons she'd had from Luke so long ago.

 _Where are you?_ _ **Han!**_

With a flood of relief and joy, she felt the connection return like a beacon growing steadily brighter in intensity. A rational thought flitted through her head, followed by a rush of doubt, fear and worry—that none of this was real, that she'd become unhinged with grief and was simply suffering a powerful delusion. Ruthlessly, she batted those thoughts away and focused as calmly as she could on maintaining the connection. She could feel him. It was _definitely_ him. She waited, trembling and anxious, for his answer.

When his response finally came, it was as clear as a ringing bell.

 _I'm here._

* * *

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

 **End Note:** Reviews are always greatly appreciated, no matter how "old" the story is. Trust me. :D


	7. Chapter 7: Han

Remain in Light – Chapter 7: Han by Erin Darroch

 **Ratings/Warnings (this chapter):** T; mild language; themes; angst

 **Chapter 7: Han**

* * *

 **Part 1:**

Han regained consciousness in the midst of his second breathing tube extraction. The effect was nightmarish as he swam up out of a drug-induced haze to feel the guttural drag of tubing at the back of his throat, and a large foreign object clattering around his teeth and tongue. He gagged and spluttered as the mask was lifted away from his face, and then glared up at the apologetic face of Ensign Mellor. His alignment with the First Order and his resemblance to Ben notwithstanding, Mellor seemed like a nice guy, but he was not going to be permitted to approach Han with that breathing tube a third time without meeting some opposition. Mellor gave him a look of understanding, and turned to continue working at his tasks. Craning his neck, Han could see the back of Astor's head as he bent over the administrative desk in the corner.

Dropping his head back onto the pad of the gel tank, Han waited impatiently for full muscle movement to be restored. His brain had kicked straight into overdrive upon waking, flooding his mind with a blur of memories, producing a rush of unsettling emotions, and filling him with the urgent impulse to get up and move.

Foremost in his mind was the memory of Ben's face, bathed in red light, coldly assessing the effect of his lightsaber as it plunged through Han's upper chest. With an impatient jerk of his head, he tried to dislodge the image, only to have another anxious worry crowd his mind: the unknown fate of Chewbacca and the two kids he'd left behind on Starkiller Base. He hoped with all his heart that the Wookiee had managed to get Rey and Finn out before the station collapsed. An alternative outcome did not bear thinking about.

Lying in the cooling gel, listening to the sounds of Mellor and Astor going about their duties, he mused over the peculiar feeling that arose in his gut every time he thought of the girl from Jakku. From the moment he'd found her crouched in hiding under the _Falcon_ 's deck plates, Rey had impressed him in every way. For a start, she'd understood Shyriiwook, no mean feat for someone who had allegedly spent her entire life on a desert planet, presumably far from contact with any Wookiees—an exceptionally rare species in that part of the galaxy. Even for gifted galactic linguists, understanding of the rich vibrato tones and animalistic enunciations of Chewbacca's language was difficult to acquire without long acquaintance or immersion. Leia could understand Chewie, and so could Luke—mostly—but they'd both spent many years in his company. Han found it odd, but very interesting, that Rey had responded to Chewbacca without hesitation.

And then there was her resemblance to Breha. The thought was not a new one to Han's mind, but it was simultaneously a thrilling and terrifying idea. Thrilling because he hadn't felt a spark of that sort of hope in a long, long time, and terrifying because he was afraid to be wrong about it. The odds of encountering his lost daughter in such a manner were beyond calculation—not that he'd ever bothered much about long odds—but still...it was a very poor bet.

With a grimace, he tried to turn his thoughts away from the subject, but he was still able to move only his extremities, and those only very slightly. The two medics were ignoring him, absorbed in their tasks. The recovery of his motor skills seemed to be taking an extraordinarily long time. Han sighed in frustration.

With nothing else to do, he returned to musing over Rey and what his instincts had told him about her. She looked remarkably like he'd imagined Breha might look at that age, which was coincidentally around the same age Breha would be, if she were alive. But there was something else, something less substantial that he couldn't quite put a name to, that told him that his intuition was correct. Within minutes of their meeting, an awareness of Rey as a person had faintly illuminated a darkened corner of his mind. It was a lively spark that danced in the back of his thoughts at all times, producing an odd sensation that he could _feel_ her, somehow.

Han had never been a big fan of the Force and all of its irritatingly mysterious workings, and he certainly wasn't gifted in its manipulations, but he'd long ago stopped dismissing it as folklore. It was no myth; it was an element to be acknowledged and respected, especially in this age of intergalactic war and strife. Han had seen the evidence of the Force in use many times, and he'd suffered catastrophic personal losses at the hands of its users. He had no doubt that it was real.

As his thoughts took a bitter turn, Astor left the administrative area where he'd been working, and approached Han's bedside. His piercing blue eyes scanned Han's supine form with clinical detachment. Mellor busied himself with continuing the shutdown of the cooling gel tank in which Han was stretched, naked, catheterized, and covered with a sheen of sticky orange gel.

"Your treatment is complete, Captain Solo," Astor informed him in cool, clipped tones. "It took quite a bit longer than expected due to the severity of your wound."

He paused expectantly. When Han did not respond, he continued, "I regret to inform you that you will bear a significant scar and you may suffer some difficulties of movement in your right shoulder joint. Even the intercellular hydrogel, which is remarkable indeed, does not always have the power to heal completely. However, it did save your life."

Han took in this little speech with only dim comprehension, preoccupied as he was with the unpleasant trickling sensation of cold gel as it dripped down his skin and the uncomfortable feeling that he needed a trip to the fresher. He concentrated on trying to move his extremities in anticipation of regaining voluntary muscle movement. Glancing down the length of himself, he scowled at his wiggling toes.

"How long?" he rasped out, finally, when he felt like speaking. "How long have I been unconscious?"

He'd noticed immediately upon waking that he was in a different room, albeit one that was nearly identical to the first. And the catheter line strapped to his thigh and attached to his groin was new, too. But there was something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, that gave him the impression that more than a few hours had passed. He saw Astor and Mellor exchange looks in response to his question. Mellor looked away quickly, rolling up tubing and stuffing it into a storage crate. Astor responded.

"As I've said, your injury required an extended period of treatment. Captain Phasma is on her way up from Keugo City to speak with you. You will soon be moved to a holding cell, where you will find a refresher unit available for your use." With that, Astor took his leave and Mellor continued the business of attending to Han. The removal of the catheter was especially unpleasant, but Han had endured such indignities—and much worse—many times before over the course of his lifetime. It was soon over, and Mellor began tidying up.

As soon as he could move his arms, Han discovered what it was that had given him the first impression of significant time having passed. Rubbing his hand over his chin and jaw, he could feel evidence of several days' growth of beard. Something in Mellor's demeanour and the way the young medic avoided his gaze made Han suspect that his extended "treatment" had been a convenient way to keep him out of trouble for a few days. The order to keep him sedated had, no doubt, come from Captain Phasma.

"So...what's going on, pal?" he asked conversationally as Mellor rinsed away the last of the orange gel from the interior of the basin where Han lay. His resemblance to Ben was, to Han's great relief, fading with longer acquaintance.

The medic gave him a polite smile and punched a button on the gel tank in the vicinity of Han's resting head. Ignoring the meaning behind Han's question, he said, "It is time to get you cleaned up and into some clothes." The entire bed of the tank began to lower towards the floor. Within moments, it was low enough for Han to swing his legs over and climb out.

Even as he stretched gingerly and tested the strength of his wobbly legs, the sound of booted feet could be heard in the corridor, heralding the appearance of two stormtroopers. They'd been dispatched, they informed Mellor, to see Han secured in the medical centre's temporary holding cells. Han surmised that he would find out soon enough from Phasma what they had planned for him.

In the meantime, he hoped that someone, somewhere, was preparing breakfast.

* * *

 **Part 2:**

Standing in the fresher unit of his cell, dripping wet after a hot shower, and finally free of gel residue, Han paused for a moment to take stock. He regarded his murky reflection in the thin sheet of polished metal that served as a mirror. Lost a bit of weight, he thought, running a hand over his bare abdomen. Looking a little paler than usual, maybe. Not too bad for someone who had been impaled by a lightsaber and dumped in a trash compactor not long ago.

The painful memory was marginally easier to bear now that he was back on his feet, but it nevertheless drew his eyes back to the scar on his chest. The deep, glossy hollow of new skin was about four centimetres in diameter and was situated near the upper edge of his pectoral muscle, a narrow hand-span above the nipple. Ben had just missed puncturing his lung. Had that been deliberate, Han wondered? Did Ben, as Phasma had indicated, lack commitment to the path he was on? Han didn't think so. In any case, the scar would stand as a lasting reminder of the encounter. With a heavy heart, Han acknowledged darkly that he hoped it would prove to be their last. The knowledge of what his boy had become was unbearable, and Han would rather never see him again than to see him so corrupted.

A gentle chime at the door announced a visitor to his cell. Hastily drying himself off, Han wrapped one of the towels around his hips and stepped through the open arch into the main part of the cell just as Mellor entered. Han was mildly amused. This was easily the swankiest "prison" he'd ever been in, and he'd been in quite a few. It was more like a hotel, especially noticeable in the fact that there was a built-in delay between the command to open the door and the door actually opening, presumably to give "guests" a moment to compose themselves. He shrugged to himself, bemused by the civility.

Ensign Mellor had arrived with a handful of items for Han's comfort, including a shaver, a packet of sweets and a small stack of what looked like entertainment flimsies to keep him from getting too bored. "They're a little old," he said, apologetically, "but it's all I could find. The one on the very bottom is the latest issue." Han hid a smile and thanked Mellor with matching courtesy, shaking his head. _Some prison_.

As Mellor deposited these items on the small bedside table and turned to go, the door chimed again. The senior medic, Astor, entered a moment later, carrying a small bundle of clothes for Han's use. Rather bizarrely, he sketched a sort of curt bow in Han's direction as he offered the stack of garments. Han reached out for them, completely nonplussed. There was a very odd vibe in the air. These two were up to something, or he was a Wookiee's uncle.

"We are pleased to see you up and doing so well after your ordeal," Astor was saying, as primly officious as ever. "We will be leaving you in the hands of the stormtroopers now. There will be one posted at your door at all times for the duration of your stay." He gave Han a meaningful stare, as if waiting for some acknowledgement. Han nodded. Of course there would be a guard on the door. He didn't understand the significance of the long pause.

Mellor exchanged glances with the elder medic and cleared his throat. There was another expectant lull. Han waited, puzzled by their peculiar demeanour and feeling impatient for them to leave so that he could get dressed in peace. After another small hesitation, Mellor finally said, "We hope these _resources_ will serve you well."

"Uh, okay," Han said, uncertainly. Mellor's emphasis on the word resources was as mystifying as anything else. "Thanks. Thanks a lot."

The two men took their leave, turning one last time to glance at Han through the open door as they departed. Before it swished shut, he noted the glossy white armour of the stormtrooper on duty at the door. Confused by the strange interlude with the two medics, Han turned to the bed and began picking through the stack of clothes. He pulled out a pair of dark blue trousers and stopped cold as something hard clattered to the floor of the cell. Bending, he picked up a handheld holocomm unit and swivelled to face the closed door.

 _What the—?_

Muttering under his breath, Han tossed the communication device onto the bedside table and finished dressing. Astor had brought him generic civilian gear: slim-cut, heavyweight trousers, a loose white shirt, dark socks and underwear. No shoes, he noted. Considering the fact that the two medics were apparently trying to collude with him to aid his escape from the medical station, he thought that was a serious oversight. Han snorted softly. What were they playing at by slipping him a comm? Did they think he would fall for something like that?

He eyed the small communicator speculatively, then his eyes fell on the stack of items that Mellor had left behind. A quick check confirmed that the shaver was not, in fact, a weapon, and the sweets were just sweets. That left the stack of flimsies. Thumbing through them, Han saw the usual sensational headlines and drivel that he expected to see. But the flimsy on the bottom was something different. Lifting it to the light, Han scanned the official First Order medical record sheet with avid interest. Two items of information stood out from the rest. The first was the name of the institution in which he was being held: Avarshina Medical Station; the second was the name under which he was being treated: Lieutenant Sulvan Chol.

 _Interesting,_ Han thought. _They're hiding me from their own people._

He was still chuckling under his breath at the two medics' comically heavy handling of the transaction, and he could only wonder at their motives. Perhaps they were in secret opposition to the First Order? Maybe they simply hated Phasma and wanted to thwart her, for kicks. Han sighed. He knew that it was far more likely that they were playing him, or being played by someone else. Of those two options, he favoured the latter. His instincts told him that the two men were genuine enough, if a bit clumsy.

Turning the holocomm over in his hands again, Han was tempted. He could make a few calls, leave a few carefully phrased messages and get word to Chewie that he was alive, for a start. Or he could plant a coded notice where Leia's people would find it in due course, and someone would eventually come after him. He shook his head, disagreeing with himself about what to do. It was too great a risk. The last thing he wanted was for Chewbacca to come blazing in here with his bowcaster out, risking his own life, with no guarantee of success. Likewise, with Leia. If communications were being monitored, and they almost certainly were, he could compromise his contacts and blow his chance of finding out where the Resistance had moved to in his absence. He pondered his options. There were a few other people he could contact, people who owed him favours, or who might be willing to break some rules in return for some reward.

With a sigh, he tucked the holocomm out of sight in the gap between the head of the bed and the wall, and slipped the record sheet under his mattress. Phasma was on her way to speak with him again, or so he'd been told, so he would wait and see what her play was going to be. If she'd resolved to hand him over to Snoke after all, the jig would be up and all of that lounging around in expensive medical gel would have come to nothing. On the other hand, Phasma clearly didn't like that option, for some reason, or it would have been her first move. As he puzzled over these realities, the door to his cell chimed again.

* * *

 **Part 3:**

"I have made my position quite clear," Phasma said without preamble, tucking her chromium helmet under one arm. She stood just inside the door to his cell, with a very nervous-looking Ensign Mellor at her elbow. "I wish to return you to the Resistance unharmed."

 _No,_ Han thought, leaning with a deliberately casual air against the narrow bed. He squinted at Phasma's towering, armoured figure. _You wish to make a holovid propaganda piece showing me returning to the Resistance unharmed. There's a difference._

Reading his sour expression, Phasma continued somewhat testily, "That will be much easier to achieve quickly if you will co-operate and facilitate our contact with your people."

"You seem a little agitated, Phasma," Han remarked conversationally, ignoring her request. "What's the big hurry?"

The tall, blonde woman drew her head back a smidge, just a fraction, but it was enough for Han to know that he'd hit some sort of mark. She _was_ in a hurry, then. He considered the possible reasons for that, and spoke on a hunch.

"You think the longer I'm here, the more likely it is that my son will find out," he offered. "Is that it?"

Phasma glowered at him. "Your son is highly Force-sensitive, as you well know. If he forms even the smallest suspicion that you are here, he will confirm it in short order and arrive in person to strike you down. And I doubt very much that he would fail a second time."

Han noted silently the implications of her comment. Phasma didn't actually _believe_ that Ben lacked commitment to his path; she simply wanted to paint that picture for Snoke's benefit. He realised now that it was probably for that same reason she'd hesitated to take him directly to Snoke herself. Ben— _Kylo Ren_ , he corrected himself, viciously—was an apprentice to Snoke and would almost certainly be in his close vicinity by now, undertaking the Jedi training he craved so desperately. To bring Han before Snoke now would be to give Kylo Ren another chance to prove himself. And, as Phasma had pointed out, Han would not survive another encounter of that sort.

"Look," Phasma, evidently realising that she needed to sweeten the pot if she hoped to get Han to taste it, stepped towards him with her hand extended. "Take this, contact your people yourself, tell them where you are. I will allow them to collect you from this station, and depart unmolested, provided they're willing to go along with my plan. But you must warn them to be discreet."

Han looked down at her open, gloved palm and could not stop a guffaw of laughter bursting forth. He clapped his hand over his eyes and slid it down his face, trying to erase his wide grin with his fingertips. She was offering him a holocomm.

 _What is wrong with these people,_ Han wondered. _They don't seem to have a very good grip on how this whole prisoner business is supposed to work._

In reply, Han just shook his head, waving the offer away as he straightened up from his slouch against the bed. He studiously avoided looking at Mellor, who was standing rigidly by Phasma's side. "No chance. Now you're just insulting my intelligence."

"What?" The stormtrooper captain seemed genuinely puzzled. Scowling, she withdrew the holocomm.

Han was beginning to think that Phasma was a bit dim. Far less impressive than she looked. And she was certainly on the simple side, as far as he could see, her political machinations notwithstanding. The whole point of her rescuing him from certain death had been to prove to Snoke that Kylo Ren lacked commitment to his training. To do that, she needed to document his survival but also to see him safely in the bosom of the Resistance, where it would be much harder for Kylo Ren to complete the job. He supposed she might take holovid images here, on the medical station, as Leia's delegates arrived to take him home, but Han didn't like that idea one bit. Despite Phasma's assurances, he had no doubt that she would monitor all communications and exploit any information she could glean from them. He also thought it highly unlikely that she would miss the opportunity of tracking any envoy back to the Resistance, if she could. No, he would not use her communicator.

Phasma was growing impatient. "I cannot advertise your presence here to Organa without your son also finding out," she enunciated as if speaking to a simpleton. "I do not have the means to contact her privately. _You do._ Don't be stupid, Solo. Contact your wife, tell her where you are, and convince her to come get you."

"Look, if you think Leia would take that kind of bait, you don't know who you're dealing with. And, anyway," he lied. "We're not really on speaking terms these days."

"On the contrary," Phasma retorted. "I have it on good authority that the two of you are still rather firmly attached, despite appearances, and you've been working for the Resistance all along. I think Organa would measure the risks and find— ."

"It doesn't matter," he interrupted sharply, imagining who her _good authority_ might be. "I told you. I don't know how to reach her. And even if I did, she's not stupid enough to fall for what would clearly look like a trap. Give it up, Phasma."

The stormtrooper captain fell silent at last, and grimly regarded her obstinate prisoner.

"Very well. If you will not co-operate, you will remain here under guard while I make other arrangements."

Han didn't like the sound of that phrase, _other arrangements_ , but he was reassured when she spoke again.

"I will use my own resources to contact the Resistance and will facilitate your transfer to their custody in due course. That will take considerably longer to achieve than is strictly necessary, but the end result will be the same." She paused, her cool blue eyes sweeping the length of Han's frame as he leaned back against the bed again and crossed his arms. "Provided, of course, your son doesn't find out in the meantime that you're here."

Turning to Ensign Mellor, she hardened her tone. "This medical station is lightly guarded, so I will leave you four additional stormtroopers to keep watch on Solo at all hours to prevent his escape."

Han snorted and gave Phasma a look of wry amusement. "I think you're overestimating me, pal." He glanced at Mellor and said with a wink, "I have my _resources,_ but I'm not nearly as well-equipped as she seems to think I am."

Mellor paled, which to Han's eye was a very good sign. The young medic's efforts to help Han, and those of Astor earlier today, appeared to have been genuine—or at least, to be machinations that they wished to keep secret from the stormtrooper captain.

Phasma ignored Han's comments, and stepped in close to make her last point to Mellor. "I will hold you responsible for keeping him secure, Ensign. If Solo escapes, you will pay for it."

Han remained silent for a moment, chewing on a corner of his mouth, and watched as she pivoted on her heel and exited the room. Mellor moved to follow her.

"Hey kid," Han said softly, to avoid attracting the attention of the trooper at the door.

Mellor turned to face him, his youthful face blanched with fear.

"Don't sweat it. I'm not planning on going anywhere."

With a grateful smile, Mellor nodded and left the room.

* * *

 **Part 4:**

 _I'm here._

 _Can you hear me?_

Han's eyes snapped open as he awoke from a dead sleep. The echo of an echo, the faintest whisper of a voice lingered in his mind as he blinked and turned his head to look at the chrono display embedded in the wall near the door. Its soft blue glow showed that he'd been asleep for scarcely an hour. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up with a groan and vigorously rubbed his face with both hands.

An idea—an _absurd_ idea, the stuff of dreams, completely unbecoming of a practical man like himself—had just popped into his head. Leaning over, he pulled the holocomm from its hiding place behind the bed, and tried to talk some sense into himself. After a moment of staring down at the device, his thumb hovering over the activation button, he sighed. He'd already considered all of those options, weighed up those risks and rejected those plans. He would not use the holocomm to contact anyone.

He tossed it onto the bed and stood up, pacing the floor in mild agitation. It was a ridiculous suggestion that kept butting at the _one_ door in his mind that had always remained the most firmly shut. He felt simultaneously excited and extremely foolish for entertaining the notion.

The idea of trying to go back to sleep didn't appeal in the slightest. He was thrumming with adrenaline. But there was nothing else to do, nowhere to go. He let out a noise of disgust and dropped back down to sit on the edge of the bed.

 _Ah hell,_ he thought. _Why not?_

Shaking his head at the absurdity, feeling utterly ridiculous, he closed his eyes and tried to "reach out with his feelings".

Long moments passed in the silent room.

Nothing happened.

Han realised that he'd been holding his breath and let it out with a short laugh. Well, at least he could say that he'd tried, right? He thought of those fleeting feelings he'd been having since the confrontation with Ben, the sense of Leia—a signature that he somehow knew was distinctly, uniquely Leia—in his mind. He considered also the faint awareness of Rey that had twinkled to life somewhere deep in his soul the moment he'd met her. Was it real? Any of it?

He decided to try again, more seriously this time. Casting back thirty, forty years into his memory, he tried to recall everything he'd ever heard about the mysterious use of the Force as a telepathic link. He thought he had the gist of it: just close your eyes, reach out with your feelings (whatever that meant)...and then what?

 _Hello? Anybody out there? Is this thing on?_

He opened his eyes, feeling very, very silly. He remembered clearly Leia's explanation of how she'd known where to find a desperately injured Luke on Bespin all those years ago. There was no other explanation for how she could have located him, except through use of the Force, so he'd simply accepted it. He'd found it mildly intriguing but thoroughly confusing, and had subsequently put it out of his mind.

And so it had continued over the years, whenever he'd had the occasional brush with the Force. In the years after the Battle of Endor, when he and Leia were newly married, he'd listened with less than half of his attention as Luke and Leia discussed such things. Leia had gone on to a tentative study of the subject, under Luke's tutelage, for a while, and Han had left them to it. The truth was, he didn't understand the Force, he didn't particularly need it in his life, and so he'd simply ignored it. That had changed—boy, had it changed—when Ben had come along. His son's obsession with all things Force-related had made them all deeply uneasy, perhaps Han most of all. The arrival of their daughter and her extraordinary abilities had made it even more imperative that they give greater attention to the mysterious power.

 _And look where that has led us._

He realised that he was absentmindedly rubbing at the deep scar on his chest and gave himself a shake. Irritated, he stretched out on the bed again and tried to relax, letting his mind drift. Unbidden, a memory floated to the surface of old Obi-Wan Kenobi—Ben Kenobi, his son's namesake—on board the _Falcon_ for the first and only time. He'd explained the concept of the Force to Luke, and Han had scoffed at them both. Cringing now at the memory, Han tried to recall precisely what Kenobi had said then, and variations of it that Luke had often repeated.

 _It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together._

"Something like that, anyway," Han muttered under his breath.

 _So what does that mean? We're all connected? Yeah, that sounds like something Luke would say. What about Leia? Did Leia buy into this stuff?_

He knew that she did. Over time, she'd become increasingly uncomfortable with some of her abilities, and deeply wary of their misuse, given the consequences to her own family. But he knew that she was capable of tapping into them. He'd seen her do it before, when their children were small.

 _So what now? Something to do with connections. Okay._

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his connection to Leia. He struggled for a moment, confused by the jumble of emotions that spilled out when he opened that particular box. After over thirty years together, their connection was complex. He exhaled heavily. He felt swarmed by recent memories of the past few years, overwhelmed by fleeting thoughts of his own angry words and Leia's bitter tears. The devastation of Ben's betrayal and the subsequent loss of their daughter had laid waste to their family, shredding the ties that had held them all together. Even Luke— _especially,_ Luke—had been driven away by the enormity of the cataclysm. He'd blamed himself, and neither Han nor Leia had been in the frame of mind to offer any consolation. In fact, the three of them had—.

Han interrupted his own thoughts with an angry jerk of his head against the pillow.

 _This is_ _ **not**_ _helping!_

He drew deep breaths, trying to let go of the feelings of agitation that those memories evoked, to veer away from thoughts of Luke and focus on his connection with Leia.

Abruptly, his rational mind interrupted his meditation to remind him of the fact that he was lying on a bed, _light years_ away from his wife, trying to "reach" her through the Force. The thought made him want to vault to his feet and find a more sensible way to use his time. What he was attempting was plainly absurd, and he felt like a fool. With grim determination, though, he wrestled his rationality into submission, choosing instead to follow his intuition and the niggling sense that Leia was somehow within his reach, if he could just find the right channel.

 _Right, Leia. Let's start at the beginning instead of the end._

Drawing a deep breath, Han settled more comfortably on the bed, closed his eyes and cast his mind back to his earliest memories of his wife. He remembered his first sight of her, retreating down a corridor on board the Death Star, snatching Luke's blaster out of his hands, barking orders at them, and criticising their methods. She'd saved their lives—and her own—with her quick thinking and her fearlessness.

Drifting in memory, he recalled an early confrontation between them, inside the hangar of the base on Yavin 4, and the look of disgust on her face when he'd defiantly confirmed that he was leaving her and her Rebel friends on the eve of their greatest battle. In truth, it had been the memory of her deep disappointment that had turned him around and sent him back into the fray to watch Luke's back. She'd flung her arms around him after that victorious battle, and looked up at him with an expression that had burned a permanent imprint on his mind.

He thought of their long-ago first visit to Ord Mantell, and the feel of her lithe young body melting against his for the first time, as she'd finally given in to the magnetic attraction that had always existed between them. He remembered that momentous kiss in the circuitry bay on board the _Falcon_ when their slow-burning courtship had blazed fully to life. And, finally, he recalled every intimate moment of that long, life-changing trip from Hoth to Bespin, when he'd first begun to hope that they might actually have a lasting future together.

With a _zap_ , as if he'd touched a live circuit with his thoughts, he found her.

He could _feel_ her. The sensation was like nothing he'd ever experienced, and he struggled for a moment to hang on to it. His rational mind kept intruding to inform him that he was, in all likelihood, still sedated, lying in a tank covered in hydrogel. A dry, scornful voice kept muttering that this was just a vivid dream.

With effort, he blocked it out and tried to concentrate on that breathtaking awareness of Leia as an entity, _out there_ , somewhere. The sensation between them was like a broad beam of liquid, golden light, pulsing and writhing with life. With a thrill, he felt a series of thoughts—not quite _thoughts_ , exactly—but certainly emotions, imagery, impressions that transformed in his mind into a swirl of words and feelings.

Joy.

Relief.

Worry.

Love.

Then something else. Again, not words exactly, but clearly a question, nonetheless; a question borne of longing, of searching, of wanting.

 _ **Where are you?**_

Abruptly, he lost it. The conduit was gone. He found himself lying supine on the bed, eyes wide in the darkness of his cell, his chest heaving as if he'd just run up a mountainside without pausing for breath. He felt so deeply startled, so overwhelmed, for a moment he could not move. Finally, rocking his head against the pillow, he sought to re-establish the connection and faltered. For several long minutes he groped around in that strange dimension, sensing nothing but emptiness where Leia had been. The creeping rationality began to intrude once more, and he felt a moment of panic, in case he couldn't find her again.

 _C'mon, Solo,_ his inner voice jeered. _What are you afraid of?_

Calming his breathing, he closed his eyes and concentrated, then _reached_ for her as he had before. The connection this time was less startling, more soothing. He could feel her frantic question and sought to calm it, acting on instinct to comfort her somehow.

 _I'm here_

She seemed deeply agitated, upset. In response, he tried to communicate something like a sense of well-being, peace and ease.

 _ **I'm alright.**_

Her response came back as a blaze of intense joy—he could swear that it _was_ a response, a direct answer of sorts to his own communication.

"Ha ha haaaa!" he crowed out loud, keeping his eyes closed just in case. "I'm getting the hang of this."

The door chimed, warning of entry, and Han jolted back to reality. After the customary polite pause, the door swished open, revealing the stormtrooper with his blaster trained on Han.

"What's going on in here?"

Han rose up on one elbow and held a hand up against the glare of the light. "Do you mind?" he complained, gesturing down at his reclining form. "Trying to sleep here." He was barefoot, clad only in a pair of dark boxer briefs, lying on top of the blankets. It was evident that he was not in imminent danger of making an escape. The stormtrooper hesitated for a moment, mumbled something and reached to palm the door closed. Han dropped back onto the bed and reached for Leia again. This time, he found her immediately.

 _Sorry, Sweetheart. I'm back._

Her answer was another blaze of joy, wordless and powerful.

Their connection was so _easy,_ he marvelled. Why had he never understood this before, never tried it? Never wondered? A part of him suspected that his sudden sensitivity had something to do with recent events—meeting Rey, seeing Leia again after an absence that had stretched on for far too long, and confronting Ben. All of it had happened so fast, from the moment he'd spotted the _Falcon_ trying to escape from Jakku until the moment he'd been dragged from the trash compactor in the belly of Starkiller Base—it was all a blur. And now this. This deeply intimate _connection_ that transfixed him. He lay in the dark, simply enjoying the awareness of her presence, revelling in it.

At the door, he heard the clink of armour as the stormtrooper bumped against the metal surface. The sound reminded him of the reality of his surroundings and his circumstances. Abruptly, his highly practical nature re-asserted itself and insisted that he stop mooning over his distant wife and start communicating something _meaningful._

 _Listen to me, Leia._

 _Avarshina._

 _Chol._

Her response reflected nothing but confusion, consternation. He repeated the words a few more times, trying to convey them somehow, growing more determined. But he knew instinctively that his meaning was not getting through. Her reaction to his efforts felt like bewilderment and worry. He stopped insisting on those words and just rested, holding an awareness of her loosely in his mind. In the darkness, he smiled at the emotions he could sense through their connection. She was astonished and euphoric, grateful and full of yearning. He felt his throat close up and swallowed hard against it. After so many years, and so much pain, it felt deeply satisfying to know _for sure_ that she still loved him, truly.

Exhaustion overtook him after a while. The effort of communicating in so alien a fashion had knocked the wind out of him, magnified by the lingering effects of his recent ordeals. He yawned widely and pulled the pillow under his head. He reached out one more time with an apology and a promise.

 _Sorry, Sweetheart. So tired. Wait for me. I'll figure something out._

In response he felt the liquid, golden connection between them intensify in a swell of love and tenderness. He returned the sentiment tenfold and let the darkness overtake him.

* * *

 **:: :: :: * :: :: ::**

NB: I like to imagine that my H/L exist in the same universe as Susan Zahn's H/L (with her kind permission), because I love that universe so much. I'm thinking of their trip to Ord Mantell as featured in her _Mergers and Acquisitions,_ and their slow journey to Bespin as described in _Into the Fire._


	8. Chapter 8: Leia

Remain in Light – Chapter 8: Leia by Erin Darroch

 **Ratings/Warnings: T; mild language; themes; angst**

 **Chapter 8: Leia**

* * *

 **Part 1:**

Han's presence was still with her when she opened her eyes.

Arising from her bunk, Leia stood in the middle of the small chamber, her bare feet planted on the same spot where she'd stood the night before. With a lingering sense of wonder, she remembered the electric moment when Han had reached out to her through the Force.

 _How? Han, of all people..._

She attempted to reconcile the image of her sardonic, inveterately sceptical husband with the idea of him actively trying to use the Force, but it made her shake her head in disbelief. He was the last person in the galaxy she could imagine doing that. But she was relieved to confirm that he was still there on the other end of that channel, gently pulsing in her awareness. She could sense that he was probably asleep—his presence felt far too calm and quiet to be otherwise—so she suppressed the urge to make direct contact. It was enough, for now, to know that he was _alive_. Her stomach fluttered with hope that he might somehow make his way back home.

Her next steps would be to figure out exactly where Han was and how to retrieve him. The telepathy between them seemed to have its limits, at least as far as they were equipped to use it. Emotions and simple imagery came through powerfully enough, but words—words seemed to be far more difficult for them. She'd had the distinct impression from Han that he'd been trying to convey something very specific, something she could neither feel, nor envision in her mind's eye. He'd eventually given up in frustration and exhaustion, but the final impression she'd gathered from their midnight communion was something like soothing reassurance. Somehow she knew that meant he was working on a plan from his end, and that she should wait. Unfortunately, waiting around was not Leia's strong suit.

 _Right. Patience, Organa. Find something to do._

Feeling cautiously optimistic, Leia quickly washed and dressed, and headed out to meet Admiral Statura for their habitual morning conference. Statura was one of the few people on board of equivalent rank to Leia and, in recent years, had become one of her most trusted advisors. A master strategist and a chief co-ordinator of starfighter combat, he also provided his expertise in matters of ground warfare when needed, which often brought the two of them into close contact. Some fifteen years her junior, Leia was aware that he was attracted to her nonetheless, and would welcome any sign from her that she returned his interest. Unfortunately for Statura, she did not.

The corridors of the _Sabedoro_ were quiet at this hour, but the environmental control systems were already in the process of gradually shifting the lighting from _night_ to _day_ , and the ship would soon be bustling again with activity. The low hum of the ship as it travelled at sub-light speed through the Gadael system matched the pleasant hum of the connection that persisted between herself and Han. She thought of their daughter, whose reassuring presence Leia could likewise feel through the Force, and felt a giddy rush of excitement at the idea of telling Han _that_ news, and of eventually having them both in her arms again. Leia realised, as she made her way to the small meeting room where Statura would soon be joining her, that she could feel a genuine smile on her face.

 _How long has it been since I felt truly happy?_

At times it felt as if her entire life had been nothing but one long, grim, miserable war. By age sixteen, she'd already engaged with it, fighting at the side of her adopted father and his allies in the political battle against the growing threat of Palpatine and his Galactic Empire. At nineteen, she'd watched helplessly as Bail Organa and the entire planet of Alderaan—her childhood home—had been obliterated. _Yavin, Hoth, Endor._ She'd engaged in so many battles, in what had seemed like never-ending war, always struggling to find small moments of peace to enjoy with her small circle of friends. And then, finally, a year after they'd celebrated the destruction of the second _Death Star_ , the decisive Battle of Jakku had taken down the last of the Empire's Super Star Destroyers—and suddenly, they'd had peace.

Absorbed in thought, Leia crossed the room, placed a cup from a nearby tray onto the hot plate and punched a button. As the cup filled with hot, fragrant kaffe, she thought about that word. _Peace._ How many years had she known peace? It was dismayingly easy to forget, during this time of renewed galactic strife and in the wake of calamitous personal tragedy, that she'd enjoyed many years of it. When it became clear that the Empire was not going to recover quickly, if at all, from the events above Jakku, she and her allies had gradually come to accept that the war was over. Somewhat awkwardly at first, and then with increasing confidence, she'd set about trying to live a normal life.

With a soft snort, Leia lifted the cup of kaffe and brought it to her lips. _Normal. There's a rich idea._ She smiled at the memory of the continued courtship between herself and Han in the aftermath of the Battle of Endor, on the heels of Han's rescue from carbonite, and fresh from the clutches of Jabba the Hutt. Despite their eagerness to pick up where they'd left off in Cloud City, Leia had first ensured that Han understood a few important facts—that Luke was her brother; that Leia herself was Force-sensitive; that Darth Vader was their father. But Han had scarcely batted an eye at any of it, preferring to take her on her own merits, as she'd taken him. Freed from the distractions of outright war and the pursuit of bounty hunters, they'd settled into a committed life together that Leia could now recall as perfectly happy—not without its difficulties, dangers or disagreements, of course—but happy nonetheless. Not long after the formal celebration of their marriage, they'd made an arrangement with the burgeoning New Republic that allowed them to travel and work together. The next two years of close living aboard the _Falcon_ , roaming the galaxy together, had bonded them completely.

Leia realised that she was grinning into her cup and gave a short laugh. The twinkling awareness of Han was still with her, making her feel downright cheerful. Wondering what was keeping Statura, she moved to sit down at the long table and cast a glance at the ship's time display as she did so. Statura was not late, she realised, then; she was very early. She sighed. None of the amenities in her quarters were in working order, neither the Holonet station nor her chrono display. With credits in short supply and higher priorities to attend to, the failing technologies of the old Liberator Cruiser were the least of their worries. Realising that she had some time to kill, she dragged one of the ubiquitous datapads across to her position, powered it up and resumed her line of thought.

 _Peace._

She and Han had enjoyed relative peace for how long? Sixteen years? Seventeen? Until the moment they'd learned of Ben's betrayal and the disappearance of their daughter, they'd been happy—her more recent political difficulties with the New Republic notwithstanding—and blissfully unaware of what the future held in store. Her thoughts drifted into dark territory as she considered their lost, beloved, wretched son. Setting aside for a moment the knowledge of what he'd become and what he'd done, she tried to remember what their lives had been like when he was born.

Their decision to have a child together had been thrilling and terrifying, and they'd loved every minute of it. The momentous event itself, and the joys—and terrors—of new parenthood stood out in her memory as among the best years of her life. Han had undertaken fatherhood with the same contradictory mixture of wariness, great enthusiasm and cocky self-assurance with which he approached virtually everything else. He'd lovingly nurtured Ben in babyhood, chased after him in toddlerhood and guided his development as a growing boy. Leia had revelled in her role as Ben's mother, delighting especially in his lively intelligence, his sharp focus and his enquiring mind. Together, they'd marvelled over the beautiful child they'd created together—a child borne from love and dearly cherished by them both.

It was only in his seventh year, not long before the surprise arrival of a daughter, that they'd had any significant cause to worry about him. A precocious and avid reader, he'd suddenly focused his keen attention on the lore of the Jedi Knights, and everything to do with the Force. He knew, of course, about Luke, and had spent time with his uncle on her brother's occasional visits to their home on Corellia. But Leia bitterly regretted telling Ben about her own father at such a young age. She'd taken that decision in order to forestall the possibility that Ben would find out from someone else, but it had clearly been a mistake. She felt miserably responsible for the resulting fixation that had warped Ben's further development. In light of her knowledge about Snoke and his machinations, taking the blame for Ben's fall was not a rational notion. But she felt it still, and always would. In hindsight, she could see that their time of peace had been imperilled from the moment she'd revealed to Ben the identity of his grandfather.

The datapad beeped to warn her that it would soon power down due to inactivity. With a start, Leia realised how lost she'd become in reverie. She picked up the datapad just as Lee Statura walked through the door with a warm smile, and a stack of orders for her review. He prepared himself a cup of kaffe and pulled up a chair. Leia's working day had begun.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

Two hours later, with the myriad details in hand of their imminent arrival at the second rendezvous, Statura took his leave. He was planning to visit the surface of the planet Yfory for a meeting with allies there, and had much to do to prepare for it. Leia's part in those preparations was done, and she would be free for the remainder of the day to pursue other matters. First on her agenda was to make her way to the designated repair hangar, where technicians would be working on damaged or inoperable fighters and support vehicles.

Standing idly in the empty turbolift as it began its descent, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to Han and the rather pressing matter of trying to bring him home. She wondered how he was progressing with his "plan" and how long she would have to wait. It made her anxious and uncomfortable to sit idly by while he was in unknown circumstances and possibly at risk of death _again_. She'd deduced that he was being held by hostile forces by the simple fact that he hadn't contacted her by more traditional methods. His resorting to Force telepathy was both mind-boggling and frightening. It meant that he had no other options available to him, and that was a worry.

Han's presence was still there in her mind, winking gently like a beacon in the distance. She hesitated, considered her current environment in the plunging lift, but then closed her eyes and reached out. His response was immediate, welcoming and warm. She wondered if he'd been waiting for her contact, because she was immediately inundated with a crystal clear vision of a stormtrooper. Recoiling, she winced again as he showed her a quick succession of images. With her mind's eye, she caught a glimpse of a glossy corridor floor, a narrow bed, a figure in a medical uniform, and a second, more persistent impression of the stormtrooper. There followed a confused sort of impression, a repetition of something he'd insistently tried to convey to her before but, frustratingly, it was still meaningless to her.

Leia's eyes snapped open as the lift chimed her arrival at the hangar level. She stepped out and then stepped to one side while she concentrated on trying to communicate with Han. The hangar was a hive of activity as crews went about the post-conflict business of putting the pieces back together, and she didn't want to get in the way.

Leia understood that Han was trying to tell her that he was incarcerated by the First Order, possibly in some sort of medical centre. She'd figured out most of that already. But she had a choice of at least several hundred medical stations operated by the First Order, scattered all over the galaxy. She needed more detailed information if she were to have any hope of locating him. She tried to communicate that need with a thought, and his response, when it came, was something like resigned frustration.

Knowing now with certainty that Han was in the hands of the First Order, Leia felt her worry intensifying. She'd already toyed with—and rejected—the idea of putting out intelligence feelers to try to locate him more precisely. If Ben didn't already know that Han had survived, she didn't want to plant that rumour where he might hear of it. With his powers and his resources, it would take him no time at all to locate and eliminate his father. The feeling of helplessness was ratcheting up her anxiety and, not for the first time, she regretted her decision not to go to Luke herself. Now, more than ever, she felt she could use his counsel, as well as his vastly superior abilities in the use of the Force.

From across the hangar, a communications technician stood up and waved to get her attention. She lifted her chin, acknowledging the gesture. The commtech put his hand to his mouth and shouted.

"General! A holocomm message for you!"

* * *

 **Part 2:**

 _"I miss you, Mum,"_ Rey's holographic image said in greeting, and Leia's heart skipped a beat.

She hadn't heard that name from those lips—or, indeed, at all—in many years. During their few days together after the events at Starkiller Base, Rey had simply called her 'Leia', like everyone else. To hear the word again in her daughter's voice—albeit in a slightly changed accent—brought tears to Leia's eyes.

" _I hope you're well. We're near the system, but Chewie thinks we may have some trouble with communications as we get closer. In case that happens, I wanted to let you know of our progress."_

In the confined space of the repair hangar comms office, Leia listened raptly to her daughter's vaguely garbled voice. She was alone in the room, the techs having vacated it to give her privacy. The hollow reproduction of Rey's voice filled the air.

" _We'll be in touch again when we've found the one we're looking for."_ Leia noted that Rey hadn't said Luke's name. She smiled at the tiny image.

" _If Finn is awake—I hope he's awake by now—tell him I'm sorry...about everything. And I wish he could be here."_

The image flickered as Rey moved. It was difficult to tell, but it looked like she was recording in the main hold, just opposite the _dejarik_ table. She seemed to hesitate for a moment.

" _I've been thinking about my father."_

Leia's heart did another flip. She wondered if it had occurred to Rey to seek Han's presence after he fell, to use the Force to reach him, as Leia had. If so, it would be surprising indeed if Rey hadn't sensed him. Even at nineteen, she seemed to be continuing her precocious development in the ways of the Force. Leaning in to peer closely at the holographic image, Leia tried to read the expression on Rey's face.

The girl hesitated again, and then said, _"I suppose you have been, too. I wish I could be with you now. But I'll be back soon. I promise."_

The message ended and Leia sat in contemplative silence. She resolved to compose a reply promptly to ensure that it reached the _Falcon_ before they encountered any comms disruptions. She wondered at Rey's mention of Han, and debated with herself whether or not to mention the recent developments regarding him in her reply, but quickly dismissed the notion. It would be cruel to raise hopes when she still had no idea where he was being held, never mind a plan for getting him out.

With a sigh of resignation, Leia returned to her mundane duties. She circulated amongst the crew, checking progress and noting requirements, then returned to the upper levels and stopped by the medical bay to see Finn. He was due to be discharged, she knew, and she planned to see him to his new quarters personally. Ordinarily, a new recruit like Finn would be assigned to a commander among a cohort of ground troops or—if he were a pilot—a squadron, and he would be given a bed in a suitable barrack. But Leia had intervened in this process, a rare gesture for her, to ensure that Finn had a place within her own sphere. She wanted to keep an eye on him for Rey's sake, and to honour him personally for saving her daughter's life. He had been awarded a medal _in absentia_ for his role in taking down the shield at Starkiller Base, but Leia suspected that Rey would like to present that to him upon her return. In the meantime, Leia was still trying to decide on a suitable role for the ex-stormtrooper. To that end, she planned to get to know him a little better.

On arrival at the medical bay, Leia learned to her surprise that Finn had already departed, evidently to go in search of the nearest mess deck for some "real food". The medic on duty in the small hospital station was Dr. Kel Kalonia, a former New Republic physician and a trusted friend who had, as it happened, assisted at the birth of Leia's daughter. She'd been among the first to find out that the scavenger from Jakku was, in fact, the missing Solo child.

The older woman gave Leia a meaningful look and a warm smile as she stripped the hospital bed.

"That young man needs something to do," she said wisely. "Otherwise, I think he's going to get himself into trouble."

Leia agreed with her readily, and they talked for a while, discussing possible options for Finn's future career with the Resistance. It was idle chatter, nothing more than a time filler for Leia while she waited in increasing frustration for some word from Han that would allow her to take action.

Taking her leave of Kalonia, she detoured to the communications centre where she recorded a quick response to Rey's message, keeping her tone light and choosing words that would soothe and comfort. She wanted more than anything to talk to Rey about Han, but the time wasn't right for that. Not yet. Afterwards, Leia began making her way to the nearest mess deck, intent upon finding Finn before he finished his meal so that she could see him to his quarters. She was trying valiantly to keep herself busy, but the distractions weren't working. In fact, the mundane activities she'd been engaging in all day were beginning to grate on her nerves. She need to _do_ something to help Han.

As she walked through the bustling ship, Leia felt a rising anxiety over her inability to take action, and a keen sense of her own isolation in trying to deal with the problem on her own. Inwardly, she acknowledged that the primary reason for her silence on the matter so far had everything to do with the way in which she'd learned of Han's current situation.

Although she never advertised the fact, it was no secret that she was the child of Anakin Skywalker, the hated Sith lord who had terrorized the galaxy as Darth Vader. That news had been leaked to the media at a strategic point during the New Republic elections for First Senator six years ago, effectively ending Leia's political career. However, it was less well-known that Leia herself was Force-sensitive, although most of her colleagues had naturally surmised it to be the case when it became known that Luke Skywalker, a Jedi Knight, was her twin brother. Still, Leia was reluctant to broadcast the fact that she was in telepathic contact with her supposedly-dead husband, the one who'd just been memorialised on D'Qar a short time before. She didn't fear being pitied as a woman in mourning whose delusions had overtaken her, so much as being ignored by people who had no understanding of the workings of the Force.

As she approached the bank of lifts that would take her to the mess deck, she shook her head in frustration. There was no one amongst her friends in the Resistance to whom she would happily confide such information, at least not until she had some more specific details with which to make a plan of action.

Emerging into the crowded canteen, she scanned the babbling crowd of diners for Finn's face. She spotted him easily enough, and smiled when she noticed that he was sitting with Poe Dameron.

Both men welcomed her warmly as she slipped into a vacant seat next to Finn. Poe sat across from them, scraping up the last of his meal with a satisfied air. Finn was on his second helping, and he continued to eat as Leia explained her reasons for seeking him out. She told him about his new living quarters, and her ideas for his future employment with the Resistance. He was clearly touched by her gesture. Setting down his fork, he dabbed at his mouth and turned his head to look at Leia. His dark eyes met hers in a candid expression of gratitude.

"Thank you," he said, sincerely. "Thank you for giving me a chance."

Leia started to brush off his thanks as unnecessary, but he stopped her. "No, please. You don't know what it means to me to be accepted here. To be trusted. Because that was the last thing I expected to happen."

Poe rocked back from the table with his hands linked over his chest, eyeing Finn with fond interest. The two had clearly formed a close friendship in a very short period of time, and Dameron had already expressed to Leia his good opinion of the former stormtrooper.

She was conscious of the fact that Finn's entire life up to this point had been spent in service to the First Order, that he'd been trained to behave like an automaton, to obey orders blindly, to kill without conscience. But, somehow, he'd thrown off that yoke in a moment of remarkable bravery, and had saved Poe's life as a consequence. His subsequent actions in defence of Rey had only confirmed his status as a hero in Leia's eyes, and she told him as much. The light in his eyes and the lift of his chin as she praised him made Leia smile.

Later on, in her chambers, the encounter with Finn and Poe lingered in her mind. Poe had grown up with close exposure to the Force through his family's long association with Luke and herself, and Finn had recently witnessed the Force in action, and in person. It occurred to her for the first time that they were both people in whom she might confide about Han's situation and how she'd come to know of it. Furthermore, they would both be delighted to hear the news.

Pondering these notions, she curled up in her lonely bunk and reached out to Han again, as she'd done periodically throughout the day. He was still there, still warmly connected and vibrant. She tried to quell the worry in her heart and the rising fear that she would fail to think of a solution in time to save his life. Frustrated with the wasted day, she fell into a fitful sleep with a question looming in her mind.

 _Where are you?_

* * *

 **Part 3:**

Hours later, she awoke to an echo of Han calling to her through the Force and, suddenly, she had the answer. In a vivid flash, she saw an image of a First Order medical record flimsy being held up to a light source. Her focus on the page shifted automatically, as if being directed by someone else, and landed in turn on two words: _Avarshina. Chol._ In her mind's eye, she scanned between the two words over and over again, feeling the same urgency that Han had communicated earlier. She memorised the words and sent him a reassuring communication in return:

 _Got it._

Bounding out of bed she went to her Holonet station, recalling only when it failed to initialise that it was out of order. Without bothering to dress, she threw on a thin wrap and shoved her feet into short boots. She was almost running by the time she reached the communications centre in search of a working Holonet station. It was the middle of the night on ship's time, and the room was largely deserted. However, there was a familiar figure perched on the edge of a console, flirtatiously chatting with young Ensign Domina.

"Finn! What are you—," Leia started to exclaim in surprise, brushing past him to take a seat at the far end of the row. Immediately, she waved him off. "Oh, never mind. I don't want to know."

Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of Irina Domina's discomfiture. The blue-skinned Twi'lek woman was supposed to be on duty, and she was clearly embarrassed to be caught by General Organa in mid-flirt with the new recruit. Studiously, she returned to her work, leaving Finn at loose ends.

Naturally, he wandered over to where Leia was impatiently waiting for the ancient station to initialise. She gave him a stern _get lost_ look, but he didn't seem to notice. Instead, he eyed her curiously up and down, evidently taking in her sleepwear, her tousled hair and the incongruous work boots dangling loosely on her sockless feet.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

Leia tried to hide her irritation. She had her finger on a possible solution to finding Han, and she didn't want to be interrupted. However, Finn was already taking a seat beside her, leaning in with a concerned air to try to catch her gaze. As the station finally came online, Leia made a snap decision.

"If I tell you something," she began, fixing her eyes on him to emphasise her tone, "you must keep it a secret. Can you do that?"

"Sure," Finn responded immediately, then with more conviction as she raised an eyebrow. "Absolutely."

Turning to the Holonet station, Leia pulled up a search function and typed in the word: _Avarshina_. The ancient system began performing the search, and Leia turned to Finn.

"Han is alive."

The moment she said it, she realised her mistake. Instead of whooping with excitement or laughing with delight, Finn simply stared at her, his eyes roaming her face with an expression of sadness and pity. Reaching out a hand, he rested it on her arm.

"I'm sorry, General," he said solemnly. "But he is _not_. I saw what happened." Finn shook his head with certainty, brooking no argument. "He was impaled by a—."

" _I know what happened,"_ Leia interrupted him more sharply than she'd intended to, unable to disguise the pain provoked by his words. Her thoughts veered away from the memory of that moment, away from the scorched scar in her mind where that encounter would forever be preserved. She tried a reassuring smile and spoke more gently. "Finn, I know what happened. I sensed it all. Through the Force."

She waited for a moment, scanning his face for signs of comprehension. He drew his head back slightly, his eyebrows rising in a dubious expression.

"Okaaay," he said slowly. "And that's how you know that he is...". His voice trailed off. He clearly wasn't convinced, but he was reluctant to contradict her again.

Leia sighed, mustering all of her patience. "Finn, you've seen the power of the Force yourself. Haven't you?" She hadn't considered that she would need to persuade him, but on reflection it made some sense. He'd watched the horrible moment with his own eyes. He'd seen Han impaled, had seen him fall.

"I know what you saw, but I also know what happened after that," she told him firmly. "Han survived and he is now in the hands of the First Order. He's being held somewhere, a medical bay or a hospital station of some kind."

Finn was simultaneously nodding and shaking his head from side to side, frowning and trying to smile at the same time. He started to speak, but Leia interrupted him again.

"Listen, Finn. Do you know who I am?" The question sounded pompous, arrogant, even to her own ears, but she pressed on. "Do you know who my father was?"

The wary light in the back of Finn's eyes told her the answer to that even before he nodded. It was no secret now, even amongst enemy forces, and people liked to gossip. Virtually everyone knew that Darth Vader had left behind two children—two children who had fought more fiercely than anyone else against his tyranny. It was a fact now passing into legend.

"And you know who my brother is?"

Again, a silent nod. Finn's shoulders dropped and he fixed her with a gaze that looked marginally more convinced, but still confused.

"The Force is strong in my family," she told him. "It was my choice not to train as a Jedi, but that doesn't mean I don't have abilities. In fact, I do. And one of those is the ability to communicate telepathically."

There. She'd said it out loud. She waited, watching his handsome face as he looked away, digesting her words. After a beat, his eyes fell on her again and he gave a decisive nod.

"Where is he? How do we get to him?"

 _Straight into action. And volunteering already,_ Leia thought, noting Finn's use of the word "we". _I'm really starting to like this kid._

Gesturing to the waiting Holonet search, she drew him closer to examine the results.

"Han communicated something to me. I think it's his location or a name of some sort." She pointed to the word on the screen: _Avarshina_

Together, they scanned the list of matches. A galactic freight company. A musical group from Jork. A topical cream for the treatment of some unpleasant condition or other. The name of a star system. A settlement on the planet Darzo. The last two drew Leia's attention and her fingers flew over the Holonet board, deepening the search.

"Here. Avarshina." It was a small town on the eastern coast of the largest continent on Darzo, a planet in the Avarshina star system.

"Is there a First Order base there? A medical centre?" Finn leaned close, trying to read the dense display.

Leia shook her head, scanning the results of her follow-up search. "No. Nothing. It's a fishing community, really. Not very big."

"What about the rest of the star system? Is there a First Order base anywhere?"

Leia was already performing that search and they both had to stifle a whoop of excitement when the results blinked into view on the screen. Ensign Domina glanced in their direction but she quickly returned her attention to her work. Leia's trembling finger traced the words on the screen.

 _Avarshina Medical Station, currently in orbit over the planet Keugo._

Her stomach was doing flips as she closed her eyes and reached for Han. His immediate response reflected satisfaction and pride at the speed of her success. She lingered a moment with him, revelling in the pleasure of the connection and the renewed hope that she might, somehow, miraculously, see his face again.

Finn was looking at her curiously when she opened her eyes.

"Are you, uh, talking to him now?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He looked simultaneously puzzled and intrigued.

"Not talking, exactly," Leia responded, "but communicating, yes. And there's something else he communicated to me. Another word." She typed it into the search: _Chol_.

Several long minutes later, she sat back in frustration. It was not a planet or a moon, nor another medical station or First Order base. She thought it might be something inside Avarshina Medical Station, perhaps the name of his precise location within its structure. But generic Holonet resources were insufficient for such detail. Thwarted, she considered her options.

Finn was thinking, too. "He's in a medical centre, right?" he mused aloud. "A First Order medical centre. And he's still alive. So either they don't _know_ who he is or they are hiding him for some reason." He didn't have to identify the person from whom Han would need to be hidden. "So maybe it's a name? The name they're holding him under? Can't you just—ask him?"

Leia smiled and shook her head. "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. Not yet, anyway."

Intuitively, Leia knew Finn was on the right track with his guess about it being a person's name. She glanced over his shoulder at Ensign Domina, who was now paying very close attention to her assigned tasks.

"Irina," she called softly, indicating with the use of the girl's personal name that she was not speaking in her capacity as a commanding officer. The young Twi'lek turned her tentacled head in Leia's direction, her golden eyes smiling shyly. Leia returned the smile. "I need your help."

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

Leia and Finn watched over Irina's slim blue shoulders as she put her skills to work. Her workstation provided access to more detailed information than the ordinary Holonet stations, including classified intelligence data about First Order bases and installations. She was also skilled in the arts of espionage in her own right. She had aided Leia's investigations into the machinations of the First Order from an undercover position on the planet Vectra in the Outer Rim, before joining the Resistance outright two years prior. Leia trusted her, but she was not yet ready to reveal the reason for her urgent request. The Twi'lek spy, for her part, knew better than to ask.

As they studied the resulting matches that spilled onto the display, Leia's scanning eyes caught sight of the name she wanted: Lieutenant Sulvan Chol, a former patient of the medical station, now in a holding cell, awaiting further orders for his dispatch. The indication of a holding cell supported the identity of the inmate as someone not aligned with the First Order. If he were an ordinary patient, she surmised, he would have been discharged and returned to his post, or to the planet below. Scanning across the line, Leia saw that the name of the commanding officer was also displayed: _Phasma_.

Exultant, Leia communicated her findings to Han with a burst of glee.

 _Got you._

Han's reaction was something like astonished congratulations and a swell of deep pride. Leia grinned at his appreciation of her speedy work.

With a heartfelt thanks to Ensign Domina, Leia whirled around and headed rapidly for the exit.

"Wait, where are you going?" Finn called, then ran to catch up as she reached the corridor and turned to wait for him. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to make a plan," she told him. Her bold nature was at war with her tempered sense of caution, but she was already considering her resources and her options, weighing up the consequences of each. "I need to think. Get some sleep, and we'll talk in the morning."

Turning, she proceeded purposefully towards the lifts that would take her back to her quarters. Finn, momentarily disconcerted, caught up with her again as she waited by the lift doors. He was agitated, nearly bouncing with excitement.

"We gotta go get him!" he exclaimed. "Obviously! What is there to think about?"

Leia regarded him with fondness, wryly tolerant of his youthful enthusiasm, and sadly reminded of her own jaded perspective.

"It's not that simple," she told him. "It's not as though I can divert this entire transport, or dispatch a squadron to go and fetch him. He's in First Order territory, on a First Order station, under guard. We need a plan."

The lift chimed and the doors opened. Leia stepped on, but turned to stop Finn with a look. He started to object again but she held up a hand.

"Wait," she implored, gently shaking her head. She was desperate to be alone for a moment, to work out her next steps and to think through the implications. "Give me time. I'll think of something. But we need a plan."

As the doors began to close between them, she heard him speak again.

"No," Finn said with conviction, his eyes meeting hers through the narrowing gap. "We just need a pilot."

* * *

 **Part 4:**

Leia was not terribly surprised, therefore, to see Poe Dameron's handsome face at her door little more than an hour later. He outlined for her the information he'd received from Finn, a note of wonder in his voice.

"Is it true?" he asked, sounding amazed but hopeful. "Are you sure?"

Glancing over Poe's shoulder, Leia cocked an eyebrow at Finn.

"I thought you said you could keep a secret," she reminded him, smiling slightly to soften the words. She was dressed and ready to go, so she nudged past them and gestured for them to follow. "Come on."

Behind her, she could hear them hissing at each other as they made their way back to the communications centre. They seemed to be arguing, over what she could not imagine. They fell silent in the lift and Leia didn't pry. On arrival at Comms, Leia spotted Irina Domina again, still at her post. She walked with purpose over to the woman's workstation and handed her a note. Without a word, Irina turned back to her console and set to work.

Turning to face the two men, Leia noted that they'd stopped a short distance away and were once again immersed in agitated conversation.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, indicating with a gesture that they should approach her to discuss it. "What is it?

Finn was first to speak, casting a look of reproach in Dameron's direction as he explained to Leia, "Poe wants to go alone. But I'm going with him." He asserted the last point with a hot glare at Poe, who looked somewhat pained. The pilot clapped a hand on Finn's shoulder.

"I appreciate the offer, buddy, but I would be better off alone. One man can get inside faster and easier than two."

Finn was shaking his head, refusing to concede the point. "And two men can get out of a scrape faster and easier than one," he countered. "Do I need to remind you that I was a—."

Leia interrupted them with a raised hand and a pointed look. "Who says either one of you is going anywhere?" That got their attention. They both stared at her for a moment, mouths open in surprise. After a heartbeat, she relented, her shoulders dropping. She had few options open to her, and she was anxious to take action quickly.

"Of course you may go, if that is what you want to do. I am honoured—and very grateful—that you would volunteer. But, for the record, Poe, no one is better off alone. You'll go together, or not at all." The two men exchanged glances, and Poe nodded.

"But," Leia warned solemnly, looking from one face to the other with grave concern, "our resources are scarce, and it will be a risky mission. There is no guarantee of success, and you may not return from it."

Finn's expression turned to one of grim resolve, but Poe's face creased in a wide, confident grin. "Oh, we'll return from it," he said, his cocky self-assurance an echo of Han's own at that age. "And we'll bring him back with us."

Leia's answering smile was a reflection of the intense hope that had suddenly bloomed in her heart and a tremulous fear of the unknown outcomes. She wished with all of her might that Poe's confidence would be rewarded, but she quailed inside at the thought of the risks they would be taking, and the danger to Han if they failed. All things considered, however, she could not make a different choice. She had to try to rescue Han, and these two men were well placed to help her do that.

Her anxiety turned to resolve as Ensign Domina called for her attention. She had in her hand a printout from the search of the database that she'd just executed at Leia's behest. Leia took it from her, scanned it quickly and then turned to the two volunteers.

"Right, well," she said with a deep breath, "let me tell you my plan."

The men listened intently as she outlined the steps they would need to take. The _Sabedoro_ was swiftly approaching their second rendezvous point above the planet Yfory, where they would linger for a time to conduct some business before moving on. Leia would supply them with a ship, but they would not be able to take it into First Order territory without attracting unwanted attention. Instead, they would take their ship aboard fast freight transport to the Anoat system.

"From there," she explained, "you'll make your way to a base on the second moon of the fourth planet Pujool, called Iro. You'll need to approach with caution, but I'll give you some information and some codes that will help you reach the man that you need to see there."

She paused, looking from one young face to the other. "He's an old pirate, but he's resourceful, and he'll be able to get you another ship to take to Avarshina. He's a good friend and he has known Han for a long time. Tell him that I sent you, and he will help you if he can."

Almost as an afterthought, she added, "And I'll give you some credits, too, to pay him, just in case."

As the two men left to make their preparations, Leia sank down into a nearby seat and closed her eyes, heedless of Ensign Domina's curious gaze. Han was waiting for her, his sense of anticipation and excitement nearly palpable in her mind.

 _Hang on,_ she whispered to him through the golden thread that tethered them to one another. _We're on our way._

* * *

 **:: :: :: * :: :: ::**

 **NB:** I was as frustrated as Leia was with the lack of action in this chapter. Waiting around is not my strong suit, either, Princess. I'm trying to finish this story before I have to return to work, before the grind of lesson prep and marking essays zaps all of my energy. All of these positive reviews and encouraging words are keeping me going. Thank you!


	9. Chapter 9: Han

**Ratings/Warnings (this chapter only)** : MA; **adult shenanigans** , albeit very brief, dreamy ones

 **Note:** Han is feeling slightly _spicy_ in Part 1. And then he turns moody. _Oh, Han._ Hang in there!

 **Chapter 9: Han**

* * *

 **Part 1:**

Han felt the mattress give way beside him and then the familiar weight of her hand as it came to rest on his chest. He kept his eyes closed, enjoying her bold touch as she followed the contours of his abdomen with her warm palm, rubbing in a gentle pattern steadily downwards, stroking with her fingertips across the skin of his lower belly, then turning her hand palm-down to slide over his hip bone. He was already rock hard by the time she wrapped her hand around him, and he couldn't stifle a groan of pleasure as she gave him a gentle stroke... two... _three_...

 _Ah, Leia._

The chime of the holding cell door brought him crushingly, disappointingly to a waking state. The rest of his body was in a fairly lively state, too. Muttering under his breath, Han sat up on the narrow bed with his back to the entrance and scrubbed irritably at his face with both hands. A bleary glance over his shoulder at the chrono display told him who was at the door.

 _Breakfast. Oh, joy._

He waited in silence while the anonymous attendant settled his food tray on the small side table and departed. Life in a First Order medical station holding cell was not nearly as bad as it might have been. In fact, it had been a better experience than he'd had at some pricey hotels, although it wasn't quite up to resort standards. Still, he mused, it could have been worse. Clean room. Decent food. Polite attendants.

The worst thing he could say about it was that it was dull. No, make that _mind-numbingly boring_. Tedious in the extreme. Phasma's determination to see him returned to the Resistance under her own conditions meant that—as long as Kylo Ren never learned of his survival—Han would languish here until she'd found a way to do that, or until his friends arrived.

He hoped sincerely that the latter would happen first. It had been several days since the exciting communication from Leia had confirmed that she was on her way—or, rather, that her delegates were on the way. He had no details of the plan and had not pressed her for them at any point in their frequent daily communion. He thought it better not to know the particulars, so he hadn't ventured near the topic. Indeed, he'd made a point of trying to keep the mood of their connections light and playful, or reassuring and warm. He could sense her anxious state and had no desire to make it worse.

As he moved around the bed towards his breakfast, Han chuckled grimly in disbelief at himself, and the ludicrous fact that he was actively engaging in regular telepathic communication with Leia from halfway across the galaxy.

 _Or am I,_ he thought. _Maybe I'm just losing my mind._

Since discovering his link with Leia and their ability to communicate emotions and imagery through the Force, he had at times felt weirdly disconnected from reality, as if the whole, crazy business of his life were happening to someone else. It would make a hell of a holodrama, he admitted. Melodramatic and cringeworthy in places. Truly tragic in others.

He picked listlessly at the cooling breakfast food, feeling restless and irritable. The sensual dream of Leia had left him feeling deeply unsatisfied, and lonely. Such dreams had been something of a regular occurrence over the past year, after their final, blistering disagreement over what to do about Ben had sent him soaring away on the _Falcon_ for a much longer absence than he'd planned. He recognised that the extended period of avoidance had been a feeble attempt to spare himself—and her—more pain. He also recognised that it hadn't made their situation any better. It hadn't solved the problem that lay between them; in fact, it had only damaged the trusting connection that had bound them together for so long, and it had eroded the intimacy that had brought them both some comfort. His increasingly frequent dreams of Leia being sweet to him—or _not_ so sweet; he liked that, too—were a reflection of a deep desire to be reunited with her, to try to find a way over the chasm that lay between them after Ben's fall to the Dark Side.

Thinking of Ben recalled to mind Han's different, darker dreams. For three nights running he'd suffered a repetitious nightmare of that heartbreaking moment when he'd seen Ben's face, heard his voice, and dared to hope.

 _Will you help me?_

 _Yes. Anything._

He'd meant it, in that moment. He would have done anything to see their only son, their precious firstborn, turn away from looming darkness and remain in light. If only he could have taken Ben by the shoulders and steered him back into his mother's arms. But there had been no light in those black eyes. No remorse. No love. The child they'd conceived as an expression of their devotion to each other—the son they'd reared with loving care—had been well and truly turned against them. The vision haunted Han's nights and loomed like a spectre on the edge of his vision even in waking hours. Some days were worse than others, he was finding, and this was starting to feel like one of the bad ones.

Shoving the tray back on to the table, he stood and braced his hands on his hips, trying to decide if he could be bothered doing any exercises, even to pass the time. He'd almost worn a rut in the path between the fresher unit and the door of his cell, and he'd disciplined himself to keep fit with exercises using his own body weight for resistance. He was also conscious of the instructions he'd received from the two medics about keeping his shoulder joint limber. But his heart wasn't in it today. He felt deeply uneasy, and uncharacteristically anxious about things that were well beyond his control. His thoughts kept turning to Chewie and Rey. He understood from Leia that they'd made it back from Starkiller Base; at least, that was the impression he'd had from her—that they were safe and well. But there was something else there, something she hadn't communicated, and it was bothering him.

With dark thoughts crowding his mind, he stripped off his clothes and went to take a shower. His thoughts turned to Leia again as he lathered his skin and let his mind wander. As if in answer, his awareness of her through the Force intensified as she reached out to him. With his feelings so uncharacteristically close to the surface, Han couldn't stop the reflexive pang of longing that he felt when she sought that connection. He was filled with a fierce, futile wish for a return of their former life together, the happiness they'd shared before the massacre that had ripped the hearts out of them. Han was powerless to shield Leia from the flood of dark emotions that gripped him, and she responded in kind, a mirror and a magnifier of his own pain. The moment stretched tautly between them as he braced his arm against the shower wall and let the hot water stream down over his bowed head.

He desperately needed to get out of this holding sell. He didn't like the forced inactivity; he didn't like the powerlessness; and he really, _really_ didn't like the waiting.

 _Soon. I promise._

* * *

 **Part 2:**

Lunchtime came and went, and his mood did not improve. In frustration, he expended some restless energy on the exercises he'd avoided earlier, working with determination to keep his shoulder joint supple. But by mid-afternoon he was back on the bed, staring morosely at the ceiling.

He was pondering the wisdom of trying to meet his rescuers halfway. It wouldn't be hard to lure the lone stormtrooper guard into the room, he thought. In his experience, they were not the brightest stars in the galaxy, nor the best shots. His shoulder _was_ a worry. The new tissues in his chest felt tight, and the thin skin over the wounds in his chest and back stretched uncomfortably whenever he moved the arm. But Han reckoned that he was still fighting fit, if a bit slower than before. Provided there was a long-range ship docked nearby, or a planet within reasonable distance of a shuttle, he figured he could be free before dinner time. He was mulling over the domestic repercussions of taking matters into his own hands—instead of waiting for Leia to execute her plan—when he heard a curious sound at the door.

Lifting his arm from his forehead, he craned his neck up and listened more intently. There was another muffled thunk, followed by a series of louder bangs and bumps against the metal surface. He'd grown accustomed at this hour to hearing a change of guard at the door. But this was something different. Han was instantly alert, on his feet and moving around the bed towards the entrance. He had nothing at all that would serve as a weapon, apart from his fists, but he stood with his back to the wall next to the door anyway. No sense making himself an easy target.

The chime sounded, there was a pregnant pause, and then a familiar face appeared, scanning the room for any sign of Han.

" _Poe Dameron!_ " Han crowed, moving into view, beaming with approval. "Good choice, Sweetheart!"

Poe looked mildly startled and slightly perplexed at the strange greeting, but seemed relieved to see his target in one piece and ambulatory. He clapped Han on the shoulder in greeting and looked him up and down. "Alright, old man?" he said with a grin. "You ready to move? Give me a hand with this trooper."

"Yeah, yeah," Han said, moving around to take up one of the white-booted feet of the stormtrooper that lay unconscious at the open door. "Who's with you?" Han asked, as they dragged the armoured man into the room. "Leia wouldn't let you come alone, I guess."

He straightened up, wincing as he gingerly rotated his injured shoulder joint. He gave his rescuer an appraising look. Poe was dressed rather incongruously in a business suit reminiscent of the sort that Han recalled seeing Corellian used-freighter sales reps wearing. Han quirked an eyebrow and gestured the obvious question.

"Long story. We thought we'd need a ruse to get in here. Turns out, not so much. Finn's with me. We ran into a little trouble with another trooper. They were about to make a shift change, so we had two to deal with."

"Bad timing," Han agreed. He went to the door and peeked out. The corridor was deserted. He ducked back in and turned to Poe. "Where is he?"

"We clocked the other guy around the next corner. He's dragging him back here so we can hide 'em both. I should probably go help him... Did you know there's hardly any security on this station? And _none_ on this detention block, other than these two? This place is deserted. We walked right in." Without waiting for a response, Poe looked Han up and down. "You're looking pretty good for a dead man."

Han shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "I was only _mostly_ dead."

Dameron laughed out loud, looking enormously pleased to see that Han hadn't lost his sense of humour. "Mostly, eh? How are you feeling now?"

Han nodded and then shrugged again. "Not bad."

Poe grinned again and shook his head in amazement, then his expression sobered somewhat. His dark eyes met Han's. "I heard about what happened. Don't know how you survived that."

"I'll tell you about it later," Han promised. He did not relish the idea of recounting the bitter tale, but the young pilot was one of the few people, apart from Chewie and Leia, that Han would ever wish to confide in. Only slightly older than Ben, in many ways Poe Dameron was the son Han wished they'd had instead. That unworthy thought made him wince. "We need to get out of here. Better go help the kid."

"Who are you calling 'kid'?" Finn wheezed from the open door. He paused for breath, propped his forearm against the frame and gave Han a broad smile. "Man, you are one tough _dilga-nut_."

Han had no idea what a _dilga-nut_ was, but he accepted the compliment with a grin nevertheless. He was genuinely pleased to see the younger man and took a moment to greet him warmly. For some reason, seeing Finn's face made Han feel marginally better about where Rey and Chewie might be. He decided he would ask that question later, once they were clear of the station and on their way home.

"Hey, get that guy in here," Han said, suddenly coming to his senses as he realised the second stormtrooper was lying unconscious at Finn's feet. "You're right—there's not a lot of action on this station, just a skeleton crew, but we're pushing our luck standing around here gabbing."

Han took a step back and let the younger men haul the second trooper through the door. Finn disappeared into the corridor again and returned holding the handle of a large metal container, which he heaved onto the bed. Han palmed the door closed and noted the time. If the previous days' routines were anything to go by, they would be undisturbed by guards or meal attendants for a long while yet, unless someone missed the guard whose shift had just ended. Han rolled his shoulders uneasily, wincing with pain as he stretched his wounded muscles. This little operation was going rather too smoothly—and too slowly—for his liking.

Turning back towards the bed, Han eyed Finn's container curiously. It looked like a sample case, the sort that sales reps across the galaxy carried around to meetings, hoping to persuade customers to buy their wares. Glancing again at Finn, he noted that the younger man was dressed in a suit similar to the one Poe was wearing.

"You're here on 'business', I guess?" he asked sardonically, bending to pull the boots off the feet of the first stormtrooper. Han was still without footwear himself, the medics having failed to include any with the items they'd left for his use, and the troopers having no reason to supply any. To amuse himself, and to distract Leia from her worry over him, he'd been sending her occasional comical visions of his bare feet, sometimes with socks, sometimes with one-off and one-on, and variations thereof. His short time in the holding cell had been tolerable enough, but excruciatingly boring. It was probably a very good thing that he was being extracted before he resorted to sending more _interesting_ imagery.

Poe watched Han stripping the stormtrooper and guessed his plan. He bent down to help, while Finn rummaged around in the case.

"Yeah, we're here on 'business'," Dameron said, in answer to Han's question, "you're looking at the finest representatives of the Calrissian Pharmaceutical Corporation, here to sell the medics a knockoff version of the new miracle gel that everyone's raving about. Don't we look the part?"

The young pilot stopped what he was doing when he noticed Han staring at him, mouth hanging open in surprise.

" _Calrissian_?" Han said, wonderingly. "Are you serious? Where did you find _him_? How's he doing?"

Dameron nodded, wrenching the lower leg plate off of the unconscious trooper.

"Fine, as far as I could tell, although you'd be a better judge of that than I am. Leia knew where he was. She helped us get to him, and then he helped us get to you." The pilot grimaced as he hauled on the front of the trooper's chest plate by himself, unaided by a distracted Solo.

Han was impressed all over again with Leia's resourcefulness. He hadn't seen Lando in years. His Socorran friend had abruptly withdrawn from his business dealings with the New Republic and drifted away with his young son many years ago, in the aftermath of his wife's sudden death. Even Maz Kanata hadn't seen him since, or so she'd said, and they'd once been good friends. _Trust Leia to have the intel,_ he thought. He stooped to continue stripping the first trooper.

Finn had finished upending the contents of the sample case onto the bed, and was busily prying at the bottom of the container. With a pop, it finally gave way and Finn gave a satisfied chuckle. Han glanced up just in time to see him pulling a pair of Han's old boots out of the case.

"Leia sent these," Finn said, with a bemused shrug. "Said you might need them."

Shaking his head in amusement, Han took the boots and pulled them on, grinning with satisfaction. Leia was nothing if not perceptive, he reflected, and thorough. Looking up, his gaze fell on the sample case again.

"You should've had a weapon in there instead of boots," he informed his companions matter-of-factly, and then in a tone of reproach, "Neither one of you even had a _blaster._ "

"We weren't sure how closely we'd be searched," Finn replied, crouching down to remove the helmet from the second trooper. "Turns out, we weren't searched at all."

Han watched him for a moment, thinking. "Then how did you overpower these guys? Hand-to-hand combat?" He looked somewhat doubtful as to the likelihood of that happening, which caused both of the younger men to look in his direction with mildly offended expressions.

Poe put his hand in his jacket pocket and withdrew it, holding it up to show Han a small, opaque spray bottle. "Knocked 'em out. One spray to the faceplate and boom." He grinned. "Lando gave them to us. Very handy."

" _Very_ handy," Han agreed, somewhat mockingly. "And what did _you_ do while you sprayed it, huh? Just held your breath?"

When both men nodded, Han couldn't stifle a hearty laugh. "Good to see that Lando is still thinking things through like a pro. Did he give you the knockoff hydrogel to peddle, too?"

"Yep, and a ship to get you home. Speaking of which, we'd better move. We arrived a little early for our 'sales meeting'," Poe told him, exaggerating the words, "and there was no one at the docking bay. So we just walked in here. Crazy."

Han agreed with Poe that the utter lack of security, apart from the meagre guards outside his door, was crazy—and worrisome. Again he had the creeping feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong if they didn't hurry up.

Turning to look at Finn, Han noticed the younger man was standing stock still, gazing down with an odd expression at the face of the second stormtrooper whose helmet he'd just removed.

"What's the matter? Get moving," Han ordered, moving around to help. When Finn didn't budge, Han looked at him again. "Finn. Buddy. Snap out of it."

Automatically, Finn moved to obey the command, but he seemed disturbed as he continued stripping the trooper. As they worked together to divest the man of his armour and the underlying bodysuit, he said quietly, "They're brainwashed, you know? Programmed. They don't even know what they're doing half the time. Don't have a choice."

Han grimaced, empathetic to Finn's feelings but feeling increasingly anxious about how much time they were wasting. Ignoring the boy's remarks, he finally managed to yank the breastplate off of the unconscious guard and shoved it into Finn's hands. "Put this on. We need to move."

"Uh, no chance," Finn replied, sounding shocked. He stared at Han with an appalled expression. "Sorry. Nope. I am never putting that gear on again. _You_ wear it."

Han threw both hands up in exasperation and then braced them on his hips, fixing Finn with his best glare. "We don't have time for a therapy session, pal. Put it on."

Finn was shaking his head, still objecting. "We don't even _need_ the uniforms. If we go right now, we could get back to the docking bay before they even realise we're gone. There's no one to stop us. We're wasting time doing this." He gestured to the two unconscious stormtroopers, looking genuinely distressed.

"Look, kid," Han said, mustering his self-control, but unable to keep the impatient snarl out of his voice, "I'm not going anywhere without these blasters. And you're gonna look kind of funny holding a blaster if you're wearing your fancy suit. _Put it on._ "

Poe intervened in their disagreement by calling for Finn's attention and gesturing down at his own body, now clad in the armour of the first stormtrooper. He lifted the glossy white helmet to his head and said, "You do what you gotta do, buddy."

* * *

 **Part 3:**

They moved down the curving corridor at a brisk pace, Han walking between the two men in uniform to give the appearance of being escorted. But they need not have bothered. Once the tiny cell block was behind them, the corridors were wide and brightly lit, but sparsely populated. Medics and aides, patients and visitors, and the occasional roving droid were the only figures in sight, and no one gave them a second glance. Occasionally, the passage widened on one side, creating a deep alcove that provided space for a food or beverage kiosk, or a small waiting area with clusters of casual seating arrangements and potted Keugoan flora. These areas were likewise thinly occupied, and the passing trio attracted no interest. It was puzzling, and deeply unsettling.

In his short stay, Han had heard it mentioned more than once—and had it confirmed by Poe and Finn—that the station was very lightly guarded by First Order military personnel, but the utter lack of security was bordering on ridiculous. So far they'd seen only one stormtrooper and that one had been standing mutely on guard at the first docking bay blast door they passed. The guard gave a nod of his head to the costumed Finn and Poe, which they returned, but that was the extent of the notice they drew in their progress towards their destination.

As they followed the curving walkway Han wished that he'd opted to don one of the stormtrooper suits himself so that he could have the reassuring weight of a blaster in his hands. Finn and Poe marched silently to either side of him, each equipped with a weapon, while Han had only the tiny bottle of Lando's knockout spray in one clenched fist. Although the complete absence of opposition said otherwise, something was wrong. Han could feel it, and he'd long ago learned to trust such intuitions. He scanned around him as they walked, trying to spot the hidden danger.

Finn, on the other hand, was preoccupied by his own displeasure. "See?" he was complaining in a low voice, his voice distorted by the helmet. "We didn't need the uniforms. No one has even looked at us, and we're nearly there."

They were headed to docking bay four and they'd just passed number three. Han took a deep breath, trying to decide if his suspicions were strong enough to warrant a change of plans at this late stage. As they walked, he glanced up at the visual displays that showed the bank of docking bays along this corridor and their current status. As they approached the blast doors leading to the hangar, he could see that the image for number four showed red, indicating that it was occupied. In the space below the header, there was a low-resolution image of a _ILH-KK_ Citadel-class civilian cruiser with the rather grandiose name of _The Immortal Chance_ , according to the text displayed below. Han quirked an eyebrow at that and started to look away when something in the blurry image caught his eye.

"Uh oh," he muttered, coming to a halt just in front of the wide, squat entrance to docking bay four.

"What's wrong?" Poe's voice filtered through the helm on Han's right.

With a grim expression, Han pointed at the display. "I think I know why we haven't seen any security."

Before they could react, the heavy blast doors gave a metallic groan and crashed open. The three men took a reflexive step back in unison, but it was clear that trying to run would be futile.

From the corridor behind them, Han could hear another blast door open, followed by the sound of running, booted feet. He realised, too late, that the lone trooper they'd passed must have given the signal that the trap was sprung. Looking through the gap into docking bay four, Han saw arrayed before them dozens of stormtroopers, each with a blaster aimed at the trio. One of them stepped forward and disarmed Poe and Finn. Han could hear Poe cursing himself in chagrin at being caught so easily.

Han gave a philosophical shrug and muttered, "It happens, kid. But it ain't over yet. Stay alert."

Captain Phasma stood squarely aligned in the middle of the opening, her chromium helmet under one arm. Behind her, Han could see _The Immortal Chance_ perched and ready to go at the far end of the landing deck, looking very far away indeed. His heart sank, but he decided to bluff it.

"Well," he said, with an exaggerated sigh, "you were right about me, Phasma. I don't look like much, but I got it where it counts. So you should know that our friends are waiting for us. If we don't arrive soon, Snoke is going to receive a message telling him all about your little plot. Something tells me he won't be too happy when he finds out you've been keeping me here without his say-so, when you _know_ he wants me dead. I think you'd better let us go, and cut your losses."

"Oh, I'm going to let you go," she assured him, mocking amusement twinkling in her blue eyes as she advanced to stand in front of him. Han's appreciation for her enormous height deepened significantly, as he had to tilt his chin up to maintain eye contact. "But I'm going to make you work for it. And I _will_ get what I need from you first."

That sounded ominous. Han swallowed, craning his neck around to try and peer deeper into the lofty space behind Phasma, looking for ideas or inspiration. Stormtroopers—what appeared to be the medical station's entire complement— were arrayed on the metal access ramps and platforms that bordered the entrance and interior walls. Han couldn't see the areas to the immediate left or right of the blast doors, but there were no troopers at all standing between himself and _The Immortal Chance_. It was a clear run down a gently curving access walkway to the boarding ramp, which was already extended and waiting. Han scowled, trying to work out what Phasma had in mind.

"I take it these two are your _rescuers_ ," Phasma sneered, sarcasm dripping from her tone. "Pathetic. Well, we cannot have it appear that First Order troopers under my command aided your escape. Get those uniforms off."

Finn complied with alacrity, and Poe followed suit. Soon they were both standing, barefoot, clad only in the thin bodysuits that served as underarmour. Phasma turned her head to speak in a low voice to the stormtrooper on her left, who promptly turned and moved off down the corridor at a brisk trot. She turned back to face her three captives and her eyes fell on Finn.

"FN-2187," Phasma barked suddenly, sounding simultaneously amazed and outraged. She advanced to tower over Finn, who quailed for an instant and then jutted out his jaw in defiance, meeting her glare with one of his own. He looked as though he expected imminent repercussions for his ignominious disposal of Phasma down a garbage chute, but she had only one question in mind.

"Your record indicates that you were first conditioned at the age of five," she stated, her voice cold. She loomed over the ex-stormtrooper who had defied her, her eyes searching his face. "In the wake of your defection, I checked. We had no reports of aberrant behaviour from you until we reached Jakku. Tell me how you defeated your conditioning."

Han was glad to see Phasma distracted, giving him a moment to try to figure out his options. He had to admit, there didn't appear to be many. He held a vial of knockout spray loosely in his curled fist, and another one in his front pocket, but he could not see a way to make use of them, considering the dozens of stormtroopers surrounding them. Poe was similarly casting his gaze around and evidently coming to the same conclusion. Their eyes met and they shrugged at each other, momentarily at a loss. Han turned his attention back to Phasma and Finn.

Finn appeared to have been caught off-guard by Phasma's demand, and his surprise was reflected in his hesitation and stammer, giving an authentic ring to his answer, as if he'd never considered the question before. "I—I don't _know_ how I defeated it. If that's what I did. I just couldn't do it anymore. What you wanted me to do."

Phasma looked unsatisfied with his response, and then her gaze turned coolly speculative, eyeing him up and down. "Perhaps I should keep you here, where you belong. You can be re-conditioned, and we will see if your defiance re-asserts itself."

Finn's dark face turned ashen and he looked wildly at Han and Poe. Before Han could respond with a suitable distraction, Phasma barked a humourless laugh, cruelly amused by Finn's expression. "Don't worry, boy. You're a troublemaker, like your friend here, and you're not worth my time. You may 'escape' with Solo and the other one, if you're able."

Suddenly, their attention was attracted by the sound of hurried movement coming from the corridor. The trooper Phasma had dispatched a moment before was returning, accompanied by a small group of what looked like comms technicians. Han suddenly understood Phasma's plan when he saw that several of them were carrying small holo-recorders.

Phasma gave a grim smile of satisfaction at the sight of the technicians and promptly ordered them to get set up for recording, with techs positioned at the entrance of the docking bay, and at various points within the hangar itself. A part of Han was greatly relieved; it meant that Phasma was sincere in her declaration that she planned to let him go. She was clearly planning to record his "escape", however, and Han had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't going to like everything about her plan.

With a gesture, Phasma indicated that the threesome should pass through the blast doors into the hangar where the remainder of the stormtroopers were standing at the ready. Exchanging glances with one another, the three companions nervously complied. Stepping deeper into the relative gloom of the cavernous space, Han peered overhead and from side to side. With a cold chill, he froze in place as his gaze fell upon the pair of medics standing under guard to the left of the door. Mellor and Astor, looking nervous, were positioned between a brace of stormtroopers. Their hands were bound, and they were still in their medical uniforms. Han's eyes turned back to Phasma, who was outlining her plan.

"I cannot now turn you over to Snoke without giving Kylo Ren the opportunity to finish what he started," she stated. "And we have agreed that it is in both our interests to see Kylo Ren humiliated by demonstrating his failure to kill you as directed."

Han closed his eyes for a moment against the cold recitation of the facts.

"These troops are under my personal command and control; they are loyal to me. They will do exactly as I order them to do," she stated confidently, with a sidelong glance at Finn. "Solo, you will be allowed to make a run for your ship, and we will make a good show of you taking fire. I guarantee that you'll not be injured, but your friends will have to trust to luck, or step lively."

Han opened his eyes at that, and exchanged looks with a very worried-looking Finn and a scowling Poe. Han shook his head, trying to give them a reassuring smirk.

 _Things just keep getting better and better, huh?_

"Naturally, I would have preferred to see you delivered to the Resistance under my own control, but perhaps this way is better," Phasma conceded. "You are correct, Solo, that my involvement in this arrangement must be disguised. To that end, these two medics will be identified as your accomplices, traitors who aided you in your escape. They will be featured in the holovid running alongside you but, regrettably, they will not make it aboard your ship."

"No chance, sister," Han was shaking his head. "They're coming with me, and you're gonna let 'em. Or else I'm not co-operating with your little melodrama."

"You will co-operate, Solo, or I will execute your entire merry band and put you back in your cell to be dealt with some other time," Phasma bristled.

Han had no doubt that she meant every word of her threat, but he had one more card to play before the bluff was up. He let out an exaggerated groan of impatience and gave Phasma his most pained, patient smile. "Nah, Captain. I think you have that all wrong. You're getting a little mixed up."

"Am I?"

"Yeah. You are. How about this? You let all four of these men go with me, unharmed, and we'll put on a really good show of dodging and diving. As long as that happens, when I get back I won't send Snoke a message explaining all of the juicy details about how you arranged your little propaganda piece, and how _you let Kylo Ren's father get away._ "

Han was unprepared for the emotional impact of saying those words out loud: _Kylo Ren's father_. Inwardly, he recoiled and suppressed a shudder of revulsion, while striving to continue glaring effectively at Phasma. Abruptly, disconcertingly, Leia chose that moment to reach out, clearly having sensed his spike of distress.

 _Are you okay?_

With no time to think clearly or to choose his words more carefully, Han repulsed her with unintentional violence.

 _ **NOT NOW!**_

Wincing, he realised that he would probably have to make up for that later, because he could feel, despite his attempts to block it out, her sharply rising fear and anxiety. He hoped fervently that he would get the chance to apologise, provided he didn't manage to talk himself back into his cell, and his friends into early graves.

But Phasma seemed suddenly to have tired of their banter, weary of putting so much effort into a gambit that had no assurance of success and that was costing her so much in terms of time and risk. Clearly regretting her decision to haul Solo out of the trash compactor in the first place, she gave him a sour look and then a curt nod.

"As you wish. I will allow you all to leave unharmed. You will keep your silence. We'll both get what we want."

Turning on her heel, she gestured to waiting stormtroopers and technicians to make ready. The guards near Mellor and Astor removed their bonds, and then a few of the troopers stepped in to prod Han and his friends forward, to stand at the end of the long, curving access ramp that led to _The Immortal Chance_ at the far end of the hangar. As they were herded into position, Han cast apologetic glances at each of the medics in turn. He and Poe exchanged worried glances. He could tell the younger man shared his concern that the stormtroopers would not manage to miss all of them. The prospect of pelting down the access ramp with dozens of blasters firing at their backs was deeply uncomfortable.

He heard Finn say, under his breath, "You know stormtroopers can't hit the side of a gundark even when they try. We'll be fine."

That drew laughs and broke the tension, as he'd clearly intended, and Han gave Finn an approving wink.

"You ready?" Han asked his team, glancing around to receive their nods.

Gathering deep breaths, they ran.

* * *

 **NB:** This chapter is a hot mess. My difficulties with this piece almost stopped me finishing the story. I knew it was all going to hell in a handbasket but no better ideas came to mind, so I just carried on with it. Anyway, let's get to the point of this saga. Next chapter: Han and Leia - Reunion – _Part 1_ _!_ Yay!


	10. Chapter 10: Han

Remain in Light – Chapter 10: Han by Erin Darroch

 **Ratings/Warnings (this chapter):** T; mild language; themes; angst  
 **Note 1:** _At last...!_  
 **Note 2:** As I've mentioned elsewhere, in my head this story takes place in the same slightly altered universe established by Susan Zahn (suezahn) because her version of how Han and Leia got together is now firmly my headcanon. This chapter, with her kind permission, borrows a bit from her concept of Ord Mantell and Han and Leia's adventures there, as depicted in her story, _Mergers and Acquisitions_

 **Chapter 10: Han**

* * *

 **Part 1: The Approach**

He could sense her long before he could see her.

The slender, golden thread of awareness was always with him now, the living root of it buried deep in the very centre of his mind, the other end firmly embedded in Leia's. Over the period of time when Han had been incarcerated at Avarshina Medical Station and in the days since his "escape", the astonishment and disbelief of discovery had given way to acceptance of the simple fact that they were connected through the Force. The sensation was deeply satisfying, as if he'd had some vital function restored to him that he hadn't even known he was missing.

Shifting restlessly in his acceleration chair, on board a shuttle bound for Ord Mantell, Han reflected for a moment on his former scepticism and habitual scorn for mystical nonsense beyond his comprehension. The cost of his stubbornness could be counted not just in many squandered opportunities over the last forty-odd years, but in terms of his relationship with his only son. He'd spent many long hours on this journey wondering whether he might have salvaged a shred of Ben's love and respect if he'd embraced that mystical mumbo-jumbo more willingly, accepted it more completely—and if he'd done so a long time ago. He'd always valued practicality and simplicity, and had assiduously avoided becoming involved with what he'd viewed then as mere superstition. He couldn't help but feel that his intransigence on the subject was at least partly responsible for alienating the son who'd valued the power of the Force above all other things.

Memories of Ben threatened to dim Han's enjoyment of the last leg of his journey towards Leia. With a jerk of his head, he silenced those dispiriting thoughts and focused for a moment on his environment. The shuttle he was travelling in was part of a fleet of similar vehicles that ferried passengers to and from the satellite world of Ord Mantell. The spacious vehicle had room enough to accommodate perhaps thirty passengers, although Han and his companions were accompanied by only a handful of others bound for the resort. The interior of the shuttle was in keeping with the resort itself; richly appointed with deeply-cushioned acceleration chairs and couches, thick, springy flooring underfoot, and sweetly scented, conditioned air. From hidden speakers fore and aft, the faint strains of delicate orchestral music filtered through the space. There were far worse ways to travel, Han reminded himself as he squirmed in his seat and tried to relax.

Glancing around the cabin, he took note of his companions. Poe was stretched out in one of the high-backed, reclining accelerator chairs, dozing with his arms clamped across his chest. Finn and Ensign Mellor—whose given name, Han had learned, was Arran—were deep in conversation over a strategy game embedded in a lacquered table, and Noal Astor was absorbed in reading a display on the small screen attached to his chair. The other passengers, a collection of beings from a variety of different worlds, were similarly engaged, sleeping, reading or talking quietly. Han turned his head to look through the viewport at the eerie, iridescent blackness that swirled outside the shuttle. Travelling in hyperspace was no novelty for Han, but doing so in luxury, with someone else at the helm, was a rare treat.

The last leg of the journey to Ord Mantell was definitely an improvement on the previous three they'd made since leaving Avarshina. As they'd zoomed away from the medical station, Han and Poe had been in complete agreement that returning to Lando's base on the Pujool moon was a bad idea. With regret for the cost to Leia's fleet, Han realised that they would not be able to retrieve the ship she'd provided for his rescue, because someone in Lando's compound was clearly taking pay from more than one employer. Phasma's level of preparation for their arrival at the docking bay indicated that she had been warned well in advance of the inbound extraction party.

Han would have to get word to Lando through Leia that he had a spy in the camp, as well as letting him know that they would not be returning with _The Immortal Chance_. He considered whether they would be able to work out a deal to get Leia's ship back, although they no longer had Lando's ship to exchange for it. Han had sold it in the shipyards of Ganthel for a fraction of its worth, the sad cost of selling a pricey asset of dubious origin when you were in a hurry. The resulting credits had been sufficient, however, to purchase clothing and other essentials, as well as their transport to Eufornis Major, where they'd booked passage on a cruiser headed for the Ord Mantell resort fleet station. From there, they'd purchased transport on this shuttle. And Han and the others still had healthy balances on their credit chips to see them home, so it wasn't all bad.

Han knew that his decision to ditch Lando's ship wouldn't win him any favours with Lando—or Leia, either, for that matter—but then neither would turning up at the new Resistance base with the First Order hot on their heels. It was a safe bet that the _Chance_ had been fitted with at least one tracking device, and Han had neither the time nor the inclination to have it thoroughly scanned and cleaned. He would pay Lando back, eventually—and anyway, the price of replacing the ship was nothing to him compared to the cost of significantly delaying their journey. Han had never been a particularly patient man, but the forced inactivity of his incarceration and the subsequent tedium of travelling a circuitous route to reach their rendezvous point had only amplified his restlessness.

 _You're close... I can feel you._

Han turned his face to the viewport to hide his sudden grin. The sense of Leia's increasingly eager anticipation of his arrival was deeply gratifying, and matched his own. As keenly aware as he was of the potential for harm that was inherent in the use of the Force, Han was relieved to find that its effects could also be beneficial. In fact, his newfound connection with Leia was a magnificent sensation, easily as pleasurable as the most intimate physical union they'd ever enjoyed, albeit in a very different way. The fine filament, sometimes vanishingly faint, that quivered in the darkness while his mind was focused on something else, would swell and grow like a living thing when he reached for her, or she for him.

Briefly, he imagined combining the two forms of communication, the telepathic and the physical, with Leia in his arms. It was a notion that brought another broad grin to his face, but moved him in other ways, too. Shifting in his chair, Han resolved to leave that line of thought for the time being. Although he felt certain—more certain than ever—that things between them had changed infinitely for the better in the interval since their last meeting, he was mindful of the difficult terrain that still remained to be crossed. The emotions and imagery that could be shared through the Force nevertheless left them with much to discuss and, for some of it at least, they would require actual words.

For a start, the open threat of the First Order and the imminent return to full-scale war was something they could not ignore—that Leia alone amongst her New Republic colleagues had _refused_ to ignore—and Han knew it meant she would be at the centre of it. She'd always been at the centre of the resistance, long before it had the name to match. She was relentless in her determination to thwart the machinations of those who would tyrannize the galaxy, subjugate the weak and abuse the powerless. She was a warrior, first and foremost, and it went without question that she would see the continuing conflict to its bitter end. And whatever that end might be, Han was afraid that, for them, there never could be any peace—not true peace—because ending the war would almost certainly necessitate ending their son's life.

That repugnant thought brought Han's mind back around to the painfully delicate matter of Ben—or _Kylo Ren_ , as Han was trying to discipline himself to think—that still needed to be settled between himself and Leia. Their son had been at the centre of nearly every painful conversation, and every bitter disagreement they'd had in recent years, and it was the subject which had most deeply divided them. Scratching absent-mindedly at the scar on his chest, Han felt certain that Ben's corruption by Snoke was complete, that he was beyond saving, but it was a fact that Leia had struggled to accept, right up until the end.

They'd always bickered and squabbled over minor things. Banter and a battle of wills had long been their peculiar kind of foreplay, and they almost couldn't help themselves. But the devastation that Ben had wrought had made them fight— _really_ fight—turning on each other with vicious words, when they should have been turning to each other for solace.

Han winced as he recognised how painful it would be to combine a fight like that with Force-fuelled telepathic communication. It was a terrible thought. But then another possibility drifted in its wake, something much more heartening to consider. Perhaps, he pondered, such dreadful scenes could be averted altogether. Where words had so often failed them, where their bodies could not navigate the complexities, perhaps the transcendental tether that connected them could stretch across the gaps.

As he mused with interest over those possibilities, the public address system chimed. Passengers were informed that they would soon be dropping to sub-light speed, and were politely instructed to prepare for the approach to Ord Mantell. Han tried to calm the rush of emotion that thrummed through him at the thought of seeing her again, touching her face, pulling her into his embrace, but the task was made difficult by the fact that he could sense Leia's emotions, too, and they were running along the same lines.

The approach to Ord Mantell seemed to take forever.

* * *

 **Part 2: The Descent**

"What's a _seriko_?" Finn wanted to know. "It's on the list of amenities. Is it like a casino? Have you ever been to one? What's it like?"

The instant their descent was announced, Finn had renewed the enthusiastic questioning and excited speculation that he'd already indulged in at the beginning of the shuttle trip. With far more patience than Han could ever muster, Dameron, Mellor and Astor answered his many questions and obliged the younger man by recounting stories of their previous visits to Ord Mantell, as the shuttle began to make its long, slow descent to the colossal structure below.

Han's own most recent visit to Ord Mantell was lost in memory; he'd been to the luxury resort more times than he could count, starting from an even younger age than Finn. In fact, he'd worked the resort for a while, first as a legitimate freight captain—importing and exporting for considerable profit—and then, later, as a smuggler, when the growing power and reach of the Empire had squeezed small players like Han out of the picture. And although those trips were muddled in his mind, all blurring into one, there was one memory of a visit to Ord Mantell that stood out with crystal clarity: his first visit here with Leia some thirty-two years before.

His memories of those three days, although quite clear, were not all happy ones. He recalled with an inward smile the hours they'd spent together in leisure after Leia's business for the Alliance was done—walking hand-in-hand through the busy thoroughfares; stopping to listen to live music; Leia's body swaying against his until he'd felt almost intoxicated by her nearness. He remembered with warmth their first truly intimate hour together, back at their hotel, although they hadn't made it _quite_ as far in that direction as Han had hoped they would. A far less happy memory intruded as he recalled how the trip had ended, with a desperate escape from bounty hunters intent upon claiming the bounty on Han's head. With a grimace, Han considered the convoluted path his life had taken, and marvelled at the fact that he was still alive to ponder it.

"Han." A voice interrupted his reverie, and he looked over to see Poe directing his attention through the viewport to a structure coming into view. "Look at that. Is that the Zakasu Tower?"

Han peered through the pane at the prominent, glittering edifice that jutted above the transparent dome encasing the outer layer of the resort. He nodded. "Yep. That's it. But if you're planning on going in there, better take all your credits with you. You're gonna need 'em."

His comment prompted more excited discussion between Poe, Finn and Arran Mellor about the fun they were planning to have—or the trouble they were hoping to get into—during their single night on the satellite world. Each man had on his credit chip a share of the proceeds from the sale of _The Immortal Chance_ , and Ord Mantell was still hands-down the best place to go if you had money burning a hole in your pocket.

The business centre and resort had long been a favoured destination for the wealthiest denizens of the galaxy, renowned for its unparalleled selection of shops selling luxuries, rarities and precious items. It was also a centre for entertainment of every description, including live theatres, music venues, art galleries and casinos. Furthermore, the broad selection of cuisine from across a hundred different worlds was unmatched anywhere. Poe, Finn and Arran were looking forward to the evening with great enthusiasm.

Noal Astor was likewise going along for the night out, although he was slightly more subdued than the others. He'd left behind a family—a wife and a young son—on Keugo when he fled with Han from Avarshina Medical Station, and that fact was understandably preoccupying his thoughts. Although he'd managed to get a message to his wife, he'd decided to take Han's advice to lie low for a while with the Resistance until he could be more confident of returning to his home without facing immediate arrest. As far as Han knew, Phasma was still planning to pin the blame for his escape on the two medics, a fact for which he was heartily sorry. He'd promised both men that he would help them—or more accurately that he would convince Leia to help them—to recover some of what they'd lost. Considering the kindness and goodwill they'd demonstrated to him while he was under their care, including their efforts to help him escape, he felt he owed it to them. It was still a matter for debate whether the better plan would be to send someone to collect Noal's family and deliver them to the Resistance base until they could decide on their future steps.

Han's attention was brought back to the present by the metallic thunk of landing pads being deployed beneath them. As the shuttle drew nearer the mass of Ord Mantell, details began to be visible on some of the colossal structures that made up the surface of the wholly manufactured satellite world. It really was a stunning sight, and a unique construction in the galaxy, at least on this scale. But Han had seen it all before a thousand times, and his thoughts were elsewhere. Somewhere, deep inside one of the looming urban canyons that made up the "surface" of the world, Leia was waiting.

Han wondered if there were some significance to her choice of rendezvous point. He had no idea how well she remembered those events of their youth; it wasn't something they'd talked about in recent years, wrapped up as they were in their shared troubles. He hoped that, if she did remember it clearly, she remembered the wine and the kisses, instead of the brush with death his bounty hunters had visited upon them both. Han had seen Leia afraid for the first time here on Ord Mantell; _truly_ afraid in a white-knuckled, nearly-hysterical, close-to-hyperventilating way. It was here, too, that he'd witnessed her fierce bravery asserting itself, had watched her overcome abject terror by sheer force of will. She had stared down her demons and saved his life. He wondered if some memory of those long-ago adventures had steered her choice of meeting place.

Or perhaps it had come down to simple convenience. Ord Mantell was in the Mid-Rim, and neutral. It had long enjoyed a reputation as a playground for the extremely wealthy, but most of those wealthy visitors had been Imperials. After the deaths of Palpatine and Vader, and the destruction of the second Death Star, most had fallen on hard times, and Ord Mantell's fortunes had declined with them. It was still a stunning construction and a hub for anyone looking to indulge in luxury and exciting entertainment, but it was far less expensive and more accessible than it had been in its heyday.

The tilt of the shuttle as it moved towards one of the gaps between super-structures made Han's stomach flip; the motion of the ship was no novelty, of course, but the reality of being so near to Leia after all that had happened in recent days was giving him a strange sensation. He felt like a teenager getting ready for his first big date. It was a ludicrous idea, considering that he'd been married to her for so long, but he supposed it made sense. He felt like a new man. The momentous things that had happened to him over such a short span of time—finding his daughter, confronting his son, and awakening to the very real power of the Force—made him feel as if he'd walked through fire and emerged on the other side in a new skin. And with a sense of amazed relief, he recognised that their relationship had not only survived intact, it seemed to have been rejuvenated, as well.

The shuttle banked right, then steeply right again as it angled for its final destination. Han could feel the connection between them intensifying and expanding, not because of the decreasing physical distance between them, but because of how intensely they both desired that distance to be closed.

When the shuttle dipped down to make its final approach to the designated docking bay, Han spotted her. She was standing amongst a small group of companions on the arrivals receiving deck. Han recognised the distinctive outlines of Sela Connix and Irina Domina, but not the two men. The deck was situated near the shield doors at the end of the long access pier to which the shuttle would soon be attached. Han swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on Leia's distant figure.

As they approached their designated docking bay, the shuttle banked to the right, turning Han's side of the craft away from the view of Leia. Unthinking, he popped his acceleration straps loose and stepped across the cabin, ignoring the faint alarm that sounded in response. Without a word, Poe released his own harness and traded seats. Han muttered his thanks and sank down next to the other viewport. Peering through the thick pane, he had to squint against the blue-white flare of macrofusers at work, and the animated amber twinkling of the landing guide lights. It was early evening on Ord Mantell and the light was growing dim.

Still, he found Leia's party again readily enough. They were still too far away to make out faces, but he would recognize her outline anywhere; it seldom changed. Seen from a distance in the fading light, she looked nineteen again. She still presented the same compact silhouette: her short, slim legs encased in trim trousers and boots; the cropped jacket over a practical, fitted tunic; her head wreathed in elaborate twists of silken hair. He smiled at the distant figure and sent her a kiss of sorts.

 _You look great._

Her response was a mixture of pleasure and wry humour, mixed with urgency, which he translated as something like:

 _Thank you._  
 _You're delusional._  
 _Hurry up._

* * *

 **Part 3: The Reunion**

Han was well past the point of trying to play it cool. Before the shuttle finished its painfully slow docking manoeuvre, he was on his feet and standing at the hatch. The murmur of his travelling companions and fellow passengers receded into the distance, overtaken by the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears. The golden thread that joined him to Leia pulsed with their mutual excitement, and Han put his hand on the padded surface of the hatch door.

Strictly speaking, visitors awaiting arriving shuttles were expected to remain in the designated waiting area for passengers to disembark, but by the time the far edge of the boarding ramp touched down and clamped into place, Leia was already in motion. Han stepped down the ramp to the pier in two strides and moved in her direction.

Her face was stark white, her dark eyes liquid in the fading evening light as she moved towards him. As Han strode swiftly to close the gap between them, he glimpsed those haunted eyes, and was suddenly reminded that—from Leia's perspective—he was a resurrected man. For days, Leia had suffered under the weight of believing that Han was truly dead, and that their own son had killed him. He could see the shade of anguish behind the shine of joy as she flew to him, and he saw her face crumple tearfully as she buried herself in his embrace. The mystical connection between them seemed to expand around them, engulfing them in warmth as he wrapped his arms around her for the millionth time.

"Okay, Sweetheart," he soothed, holding her close and cradling the back of her head with one hand as she trembled and wept silently against his chest. "I'm here. I'm alright."

They swayed together for a long moment, pressed together from shoulder to hip. Finally drawing a shaking breath, Leia lifted her head to look up at him. As she opened her mouth to breathe his name, he lowered his head and kissed her—the way he should have kissed her on D'Qar before he left; the way he used to kiss her when their passion had burned so hot; the way he knew, without a doubt, she wanted to be kissed now. For a long, thrilling moment, the only thing that existed was Leia in his arms, her warm mouth moving against his, and the flood of joy and relief that flowed between them. The pulsing light suffused them both and the world disappeared.

When they finally broke apart, Han felt Leia's cool hand on his face, her thumb reverently tracing the contours of his brow and cheek, lips and jaw. Drawing back so that he could see her face, he quirked a smile at the shine in her dark eyes and reached to thumb away a tear from her cheek. She pulled him down for another lingering kiss, and then another, before finally dropping her forehead against his collar bone, breathless and quivering in his arms.

"See?" Han ventured after a long moment, giving her a gentle squeeze. " _That's_ what I'm talking about. I like it when you miss me."

He grinned as she thumped him softly in the ribs and lifted her head to look at him again. Their eyes locked together in silent understanding and, as they drifted together for one more lingering caress, Han became aware that his companions—and hers—were all standing nearby, politely averting their gazes from the intimate scene.

"We've got an audience, Princess," he murmured against her lips.

"Oh," Leia sounded faintly startled. Recovering herself, but looking flustered for the first time in a long time, Leia took a half-step back and straightened her jacket. Then, in a familiar, wifely gesture that made Han's heart ache a little, she reached out to smooth and straighten his crumpled shirt. He swallowed hard and captured her hands with his before she could withdraw.

"I've been recruiting for your cause," he told her conspiratorially, lifting one of her hands to his lips for a kiss. "Let me introduce you."

* * *

 **Part 4:**

They stood together the way they always used to stand when briefly idle and left alone; his arm across her shoulders, her arm slung around his waist, a physical affinity, a perfect fit. They watched for a moment as his companions and hers moved off slowly together, chatting and laughing, looking forward to a rare night of light-hearted revelry. Han watched them go, and for the briefest of moments, he felt his age.

"So," Han looked down and planted a kiss on Leia's temple, bumping his hip lightly against her side. "You got a date for tonight, Sweetheart? Want to go dancing?"

Letting her head rock back against his shoulder, she gave him a suggestive eyebrow and a smile he hadn't seen in years. "I have something else in mind."

* * *

 **NB:** Thanks to all who read and review. It really means a lot to me. :D


	11. Chapter 11: Leia

**Ratings/Warnings (this chapter only)** : T; mild language; themes; angst

 **Note 1:** _At last...!_

 **Chapter 11: Leia**

* * *

 _They rode in companionable silence through the teeming thoroughfares of Ord Mantell, hands clasped together on the seat between them. A riot of life, a wild assortment of it in mid-revelry, flashed by the shuttlepod window. The blaze of colour and light shimmered and blurred; Leia closed her eyes._

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

 _As they disembarked in front of the hotel, she heard the note of recognition and surprise in Han's voice as he murmured its name. She smiled to herself, took his arm and walked with him under the majestic arch, their footsteps ringing on the polished floor. In the ascending turbolift, she swayed towards the warmth of his body and sighed in relief as his sheltering arms enfolded her again, holding her still. She kept her eyes on the glittering landscape as it fell away from their feet._

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

 _The heat of Han's body at her back made her tremble as she lifted the access card to the door. After a long, fumbling moment, his hand rose up to take it from her. She let him slip it from between her fingers and watched as he slid the card home. Finally, the door whispered shut behind them and she drifted into the room. She bypassed the chairs and couches, drawn by the stunning view, like a sleepwalker on midnight travels._

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

* * *

"Leia?" Han called softly, and the rumbling timbre of his familiar voice speaking her name seemed to unleash an avalanche inside her, a turbulent cascade that came crashing out of her—out of her guts, out of her mouth, out of her streaming eyes.

"Ah, Sweetheart," he said, crossing the room to take hold of her, to turn her around. She covered her face with trembling hands, unable to quell her convulsive breathing or to still the shaking of her limbs. He pulled her close, the weight of his hands against her back and shoulder anchoring her to the floor. When her sobs only intensified and her own ragged weeping seemed to be shaking her apart, he engulfed her completely in a fierce embrace, wrapping his arms around her from shoulder to hip and burying his face in her hair. " _Ssh_... It's alright. It's alright."

He held her until she stopped crying, and longer still, loosening his arms and placing soft kisses along her hairline. After a while, she was able to draw a shuddering breath, swallow the ache in her throat and, finally, to look up at him.

"Han," she whispered, touching his chin with her fingertips, scanning his face, drinking him in. "I thought I'd lost you. _Really_ lost you."

"I know," he murmured, smoothing her hair with one hand, rubbing gentle circles on her back with the other. He looked down at her and his eyes crinkled up in a smile. "But I keep finding my way back."

For the third time in an hour, she felt her face crumple, helpless to stop it, and she buried her head in his shoulder. He held her for a long time, his heartbeat thumping reassuringly against her cheek as she clutched him tighter. He didn't speak, but the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms around her provided all of the comfort she needed. After a while, soothed by the sound of his breathing, she began to regain her grip on her surging emotions. She drew a deep breath and smiled at the feeling of his lips pressing a kiss against her temple. When she felt able, she took a step back and wiped at her eyes with her hands.

"Ugh, I'm a mess," she said, drawing another deep breath. Han didn't contradict her, she noticed ruefully. She gave a shake of her head and a sigh. He hadn't seen her fall apart like that in many years, she realised, and she could feel his thoughtful gaze tracking her as she moved across the room. "I'll be right back."

She passed through the adjoining bedroom, noting the tall transparisteel wall that matched the one in the common room. The fresher chamber likewise had a stunning view. The arrangement of the rooms in a shallow string along the windowed exterior was a feature of the hotel's unique architecture, designed to maximise the impressive panorama. She glanced at the sunken whirlpool bath positioned at the base of the window, and smiled to herself. Palming the controls that made the clear panes opaque, she set about the task of regaining her composure.

* * *

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

A short time later, she emerged into the common room and noticed the sound of subtle music emanating from hidden speakers. Han had found the entertainment deck. She found him in the small kitchenette that was tucked into the corner near the entrance. He'd just discovered the bottle of Whyren's Reserve she'd left behind that morning when she'd first checked in. He turned as she entered, giving her a look of utter astonishment. He looked pointedly at the bottle of Corellian whiskey, and then gestured expressively at the luxuriously appointed room.

"If I'd known I would get this kind of reception," he began, his eyes wide in exaggerated disbelief, "I would have—."

" _Don't_ say it," she interrupted, raised a warning finger. "Don't make me regret it. I could have arranged to meet you in Mos Eisley, you know."

Han snorted. "No chance. Too far out of your way."

Leia gave him a faint, rueful smile, hoping he didn't actually believe there was any place in the galaxy she wouldn't have gone to retrieve him. "I was tempted. I know how much you love Tatooine."

"Well, Tatooine would've been cheaper. You can't afford all of this," Han stated categorically, glancing around the suite again. "I hope Lando didn't spring for it. I owe him too much already."

Leia gave him a strange look, wondering how and when he'd become indebted to Calrissian, but declined to pursue the comment. "You don't know what I can afford," she pointed out. "Not everything costs money. And I have my resources."

"Oh, I'm sure you do, Sweetheart," he drawled in something like his old teasing tone. "You're nothing if not resourceful. I've known that for a long, long time."

He put the bottle down on the counter, unopened, and moved in close, so that she had to lift her chin to maintain eye contact. She scanned his face, noting the tiny changes in skin and hair since the last time she'd seen him, that afternoon at the base on D'Qar. His skin had lost a touch of colour, and his greying hair needed a trim, but his eyes looked the same, and his weighty gaze told her that he was done with small-talk for now.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, fingertips drifting down the length of her arm to catch her hand in his. "You looked a little wild there. Had me worried."

She had to fight the impulse to answer glibly, to dismiss his concern. Deflection had become an ingrained habit, a ready shield to keep them from discussing anything of importance. She could tell by his expression that he half-expected her to do the same just now. But she was struggling to put into words how she was feeling, and the moment stretched out between them.

"Leia?" His hand tightened on hers.

In answer, she lifted her other hand to his weathered face, dropped her gaze to his lips and looked up at him in invitation. Even as he responded and leaned in to kiss her, she noticed with a pang of regret the light of surprise in his eyes. Until that moment on the pier, it had been a very long time since she'd reached out to him in simple affection, an age since he'd felt an impulsive caress from her hand.

This kiss was delicate; a sweet, lingering touch of their lips, and no more. But Leia was suddenly aware again of the link that had lain dormant since their meeting on the pier, when they'd reverted to words and physical touch by force of habit. As his warm lips moved against hers, she felt the delicate filament between them stir and swell, glowing steadily brighter in sync with their kiss. The sensation was novel, thrilling, and they broke off in mutual surprise. Han's eyes roamed her face in fascination, as if seeing her clearly for the first time.

"You're alright," he said in tone of wonder, as if the kiss had provided sudden insight into her state of mind.

"I'm fine," she confirmed in a whisper, holding his gaze.

They were past the point of pretence. Something fundamental had changed between them. The mysterious energy was alive all around them, passing through and transforming them. Recent momentous events—their daughter's return, Ben's murderous attack and Han's burgeoning awareness of the Force—heralded a sea-change, a seismic movement that was transforming everything. Like the shift of melting ice as it transitions back to water, they were entering a different state.

Han's catastrophic encounter with Ben—and the glimpse that Leia had seen of Ben's corrupted soul as it happened—had finally shown her something she'd long been unable or unwilling to see. The knowledge had gutted her, hollowed her out, and left her feeling bereft beyond hope of solace. But Ben's dreadful act had also, in a way, bridged the gulf that had separated her from Han, the chasm that had widened with every conversation, and deepened with every touch. As devastating as it was to contemplate, Leia knew that thinking about that act was right and necessary. She'd felt Ben strike his own father down and then exult over it, and remembering that moment helped her to see more clearly what she had to do.

"We don't have to talk about it." Han said suddenly, reading her expression and following the direction of her thoughts. He looked wary. "Not tonight."

Leia gazed at him for a moment longer and then, on impulse, reached out through the Force, deliberately extending that living tendril in his direction like a hand in the darkness. After a slight hesitation, she felt him reach back. The sensation was a novelty all over again, blending as it did with their physical presence and the intimacy of eye contact. He was still standing close, holding her loosely by one hand. She released him and placed both hands on his chest, lifting her chin in silent invitation. And just in case he missed that signal, she sent another.

 _Kiss me._

She met his second kiss with warmth, sliding her hand around to the nape of his neck, and he responded with intensity, pulling her against him with both hands. The combination of physical touch and telepathic communion was breathtaking. The heat of his large hands splayed against her shoulder blades, sliding down her rib cage and coming to rest on her hips was one thing; but the corresponding spark of excitement that arced between them was something else.

Some of this was familiar terrain: the taste of his mouth, the contours of his body pressed against hers, the reassuring weight of his touch. This was a distance they'd travelled together thousands of times. But the liquid glow of their telepathic communication illuminated the landscape in a completely new way, made it all the more navigable. Leia opened her mouth a little wider, let him in a little deeper and marvelled at the new dimensions, the changing elevations of his emotional response. They broke apart after a moment, breathless and thrumming with sensation, and shared amazed smiles.

"I _knew_ that would be good," Han murmured, dipping down to kiss her again, testing the connection, and grinning at her response. "But that is _really_ , very good."

Leia laughed against his mouth, feeling almost giddy. For a moment, she forgot everything—all of the pain, the frustration, the worry and fear—and just revelled in the pleasure of being loved and feeling wanted. It had been so long—too long—since she'd let him touch her like this, since she'd reached out to him for comfort or pleasure. Although they'd frequently resorted to physical communication in their long years together, in the aftermath of Ben's betrayal it had become an increasingly narrow channel through which to funnel all of their rage and sorrow. In the months before their final, blistering fight a year before, she'd withdrawn completely, shutting him out and using all of her considerable resources to _keep_ him out.

With a sigh, she leaned into Han's embrace, rested her head against his chest and enjoyed the feeling of his hands slowly stroking down the length of her back. He seemed content simply to hold her now, to let the pleasurable connection between them ebb and flow in warmth. Leia closed her eyes and let her mind wander.

In the days after the events at Starkiller Base, she'd bitterly regretted that year apart. She could see clearly, but too late, that it had been an utter waste of precious time and that the years before that, too, had been squandered. After they'd exhausted all practical hopes of recovering their lost children—when years had passed with no sign of their daughter, and no word from their son—they'd descended into hell. Fruitless rage and futile worry had only emphasised and aggravated their fundamental differences and, in the end, it had ripped them apart. Not only had they lost their children—they'd lost each other, too.

And now, against all hope or expectation, Leia had the sense that they were being knitted back together, that the mysterious force that surrounded them could somehow help to heal the wounds and close the rift. She lifted her head and reared back to look up at him. His warm smile told her that he felt it, too. Craving another kiss like the last one, she slid a hand underneath his jacket and up the swell of his chest—and stopped cold.

Under her fingertips, she could feel the deep, obscene hollow of the lightsaber scar. She looked at Han and saw in an instant that he was going to protest, that he dreaded going down that road. She knew that her own expression had flinched at the touch, that revulsion for the violent act that had caused the wound must show on her face, as it was etched on her heart. But before he could withdraw, or try to move her hand away, she reached out to him again through the Force.

 _Let me see it._

The objection in his eyes was matched by the sensation that he was silently willing her to let it go, to put it off. But if there was one lesson that Leia had learned more thoroughly than all of the rest, it was the necessity of facing threats and perils head-on. She sensed his rising anxiety and tried to quell it with a gentle touch of her hand and a calm projection of reassurance.

 _It'll be alright._

Searching her face with his eyes, Han seemed to feel and accept the reassurance that she was offering him through their mysterious connection.

 _We'll be alright._

After a moment, he nodded his head, and took a step back.

"Okay," he said, releasing her to retrieve the bottle of Corellian whiskey from the counter, "but I think we're going to need this."


	12. Chapter 12: Han

**Ratings/Warnings: T (this chapter)** ; mild language, themes. Angst. Lots of angst.

Remain in Light – Chapter 12: Han by Erin Darroch

 **Chapter 12: Han**

* * *

Han knew the instant Leia's fingers brushed the scar that the peaceful interlude was over. If the sight of her stricken face and the feel of her rigid body didn't tell the tale, the spike of horror he could sense emanating from her through the Force certainly did

 _No, no, no, Leia. Let it go._

Before he could put his protest into words, she was already insisting.

 _Let me see it._

He resisted for a moment, wishing heartily that he'd thought to nudge her hand away, to keep her pliant and kissable in his arms for another hour, maybe two. He dreaded the threat of a plunging descent to where they'd been a year ago. Her fingertips rested lightly on the place where Ben had impaled him, the place that marked the moment when Han had realised that his time was up—and, worse, that he'd failed the most important mission of his life. His aversion to the subject was intensified by its stark contrast to the unexpected flood of hope he'd felt just moments before, in Leia's kiss. He hesitated.

 _It'll be alright._

He held her gaze, wanting to convince her that it was a very bad idea to start that conversation at this juncture, that they should just relax for a while, have a drink, maybe two, and go back to kissing. He wasn't the type to plead, but as he looked into her dark eyes, he felt sorely tempted to swallow his pride and beg her to drop the subject. In response to his silent wish, Leia gave him a solemn smile, and countered his rising anxiety with emanations of calm reassurance, certainty and love.

"Okay," he said after a moment, and stepped back to reach for the Whyren's Reserve, "but I think we're going to need this."

Leia cocked her head at him and gave him the eyebrow that said she was waiting patiently for his compliance and would not be distracted.

"C'mon," he said, pulling two glasses from a shelf and setting them on the counter. "If _you_ don't need it, _I_ do."

She didn't object, and he was relieved to see her leaning a relaxed hip on the edge of the counter while she waited for him to pour. He could feel her eyes on him, though, and the weight of her expectation.

Tipping a modest measure into a glass, he handed it to her, then poured one for himself. She met his eyes with a faint smile as she lifted her drink and touched her rim to his in silent salute. Then, almost in unison, they each knocked back the shot without even tasting it. It was an outrageous act approaching sacrilege, as far as Han was concerned. Whyren's Reserve was a rare and expensive distillation from his home world of Corellia, and Sith knew where she'd acquired a bottle, even on Ord Mantell, or why she'd gone to what must have been considerable expense for the gesture. He'd been surprised and touched to see it waiting for him. He poured a second, more generous round, grinning at the way Leia tried to stifle a cough as she extended her glass.

Han palmed the controls to dim the lights, and then steered her towards the seating arrangement under the tall, transparent wall. He chose a corner of the long couch and was gratified beyond measure when she curled up in her accustomed position under his left arm. The feeling of her nestling against him was immensely pleasurable, satisfying a craving he'd suppressed for a long time. He felt once again the sense of promise surrounding them, the suggestion that things could be different, that they could be healed. The subtle music wafting from the entertainment unit enhanced the relaxed atmosphere. For a few minutes, he sipped his whiskey, gazed at the view and enjoyed the sensation of Leia's warm body resting against his. Together, they watched in silence the endless parade of floating lights, as ships arrived and departed against the sparkling backdrop of the Ord Mantell night.

The sense of peace was fractured a few minutes later, though, when he sensed Leia reaching out to him again in tentative Force connection, as she physically slipped a hand under his jacket and placed it over the hidden wound.

"Ah, hell," he sighed, feeling resigned to his fate. He started to lean forward.

"No," she said, stopping him with a gentle pressure of her hand. She sat up and put her drink on the table, then drew up one leg and shifted to face him. He sank back against the cushion and scanned her figure, noting the upright posture and the tension in her shoulders. His eyes fell on her shadowed face. She was no longer emanating reassurance, but instead nervous apprehension. He blew out a forceful gust of air and waited.

"I've changed my mind. I don't need to see it." She held his gaze for a long moment. Music drifted faintly through the air and, behind Leia's back, the lights of Ord Mantell meandered by in synchronicity. Drawing a deep breath, she dropped her eyes and said, "I felt it happen, through the Force. I knew the instant he struck you." She placed a hand on her own chest, and gave a slow, sad shake of her head. "I know what he did to you—and I know how he felt when he did it."

Han stretched one arm along the back of the couch and regarded his wife as he tried to process that information. He felt relieved, dismayed and distressed all at once. He tried to imagine opening a channel of communication with Ben through the Force, now that he understood better how that would feel, but the idea was repulsive. He didn't _want_ to know precisely what alien thoughts lurked behind those cold, black eyes. He'd seen enough to know that it was Snoke who controlled Ben now, and that their beloved child was lost.

He felt genuinely sorry for Leia that she held such knowledge in her mind, that she'd glimpsed the depth of their son's corruption. But he wondered with a faint twist of bitterness if it would make any difference to her views. Her belief in Ben's ability to shake off Snoke's influence and turn away from the Dark Side had long outlasted Han's own, and their most scathing fights had been centred on that very point. He wavered for a moment, trying to decide if he wanted to use their silent link to probe the issue, but then thought better of it. Maybe he didn't want to know that either.

Raising the glass to his lips, he took another sip of whiskey, conscious that Leia was gathering her words. He looked at her for a moment and then dropped a hand down to rest on her bent knee. One of her hands moved to cover it and their fingers curled around each other. It appeared that they were going to have the dreaded conversation, after all, so he took a moment to savour the touch of her fingers on his skin while he still could.

"Han, until that moment..." She swallowed hard and seemed to struggle to move past the memory. Drawing a ragged breath, she tried again. "Until that moment, I couldn't stop hoping," she said finally, her rich voice strained with emotion. "I had to keep believing that he might come back to us. I thought if one of us could just get close enough to him—if he could see us, hear our voices—he'd remember us, and how much we love him. I thought that we could save him. That _you_ could."

Han nodded, giving her hand a squeeze of understanding. He knew very well how fiercely she'd clung to that hope. It was Leia's tenacious belief in Ben, and her final request to Han before his departure, that had sent him out onto that bridge at Starkiller Base to confront their son, although he would never tell her that.

"What I'm trying to say is...," her voice trailed off as she gathered another breath. "What I need you to understand is that I know now how wrong I was. I know what I suppose you've known for a long time, Han. We cannot save him."

The words were desolate between them.

It was a bitter truth that Han had accepted long ago, a truth that Leia had fought against, tooth and nail. It was a truth that he'd cruelly tried to force her to accept, and it had cost them everything they had left.

"The moment it happened, I knew that you were right about him," she said, her voice hoarse with unshed tears. "But it was too late."

"I didn't want to be right," he said sadly, tipping the last of his whiskey down his throat and setting the glass aside. "That's the last thing I wanted."

He held her gaze for a long moment, watched her struggle to master her emotions. He had the impulse again to reach out through the Force, to know for sure if she was really saying what he thought she was saying. But in the next instant, she dragged the beast out into the open.

"There's no light in him, Han. None." She swallowed hard, her haunted eyes filling with tears. "He has gone to the Dark Side, and he is _lost_." Her voice finally broke on the last word, and Han's heart broke with it.

"Come here," he said softly, then enfolded her in his arms again and let her cry.

Leia had never been the type to give in easily to tears. From the moment he'd met her, he'd witnessed how tough she could be, how much pain and loss she could withstand without flinching or backing down. She'd always been fiercely brave in the face of adversity. He'd seen her terrified, cornered, injured—and threatened with death more times than he could count—and yet, until Ben's betrayal, he'd rarely seen her cry. He supposed, though, that recent events had finally tipped her over the saturation point. His own eyes were stinging, too, but his scorching grief for Ben had parched those tears long ago. The sorrow he felt now was for Leia; for the finality of her loss, and for the death of her last hope. And he sensed that when this quiet weeping came to an end, she would be done at last with crying over Ben, and ready to act. The knowledge gave him relief, and chilled his blood at the same time.

Han gazed out at the languid, blinking lights of passing cruisers and shuttles as they drifted past the window, absent-mindedly rubbing Leia's back with one hand. After a while, he realised that she lay quiet in his arms, her braided hair catching on the stubble of his chin, her tears finally spent. He was comforted by the fact that she seemed content in his embrace. He wanted to go back to that place of warmth and pleasure that they'd visited earlier, but the detour around the scar had led to Ben, as he'd known it would.

"There's something else I need to say," Leia whispered, not lifting her head from where it lay against his chest. "Please just...let me say it."

Han tightened his arms around her, but remained silent, acquiescing. As painful as it was to rake through all of this again, his intuition told him that they were coming to the end of the road, that there was a new path ahead, if they could just keep moving towards it. He felt the rising sensation of her reaching out to him through the Force, the resurgence of that connection that stirred him so deeply.

Drawing a deep breath, Leia said, "I'm sorry, Han. For everything."

He didn't have to ask what she meant. He didn't protest, or say that she had nothing to be sorry for—he knew better. Demented by anguish over their lost children and exhausted by years of fruitless searching, she'd finally turned her fury on him, enraged by his acceptance of their new reality, and by his unwise insistence that she should accept it, too. She'd ripped him to shreds, in fact, skilfully targeting his every weakness, mercilessly deriding his every mistake. He'd withstood it for as long as he could, before returning fire with words every bit as cruel. The memory of some of those exchanges made him burn with shame and regret. He had many amends of his own to make—reparations that he wanted desperately to attempt, if she would let him—and he felt grateful they were being given another chance. Instead of speaking his thoughts aloud, though, he whispered a kiss against her forehead and employed a different channel.

 _I'm sorry, too._

The power of the Force allowed him to communicate the depth of his feeling in a way that words never could. He could feel Leia's tremulous smile against his chest, her fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. She pressed a kiss above his heart, and he felt the healing balm of forgiveness flowing between them.

"The things I said to you—," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"I know, Sweetheart." He cradled the back her head with his hand and sighed. Although the open channel between them provided absolute assurance of his sincerity, he figured it couldn't hurt to put it into actual words. "I know. I'm sorry, too."

"I wish—I wish I hadn't made everything worse— _so_ much worse—by driving you away."

He gave her a gentle squeeze in reply. He couldn't deny that she'd driven him away, or that it had been painful—brutally so. But he thought that his absence from Leia's life couldn't have made things any worse for her than they'd already been. At least, with light years between them, he'd avoided doubling her misery by insisting upon a truth that she hadn't been ready to accept.

"We were both in hell," he said finally, his voice rough with emotion. "It was hell being together. Hell being apart."

She lifted her head and pulled back to meet his eyes. He held her gaze for a long time, gently rubbing her back with one hand, reaching to wipe her tear-stained cheeks with the other.

Through the Force he felt her yearning, her deep desire to reach him, to hold him and keep him. He knew, without a doubt, that she wanted him back in her life, and that she was afraid it was too late, that they were too far gone. She'd driven him away in grief and helpless rage, unable to bear his touch or tolerate the sound of his voice. He'd left her in bitterness, finally accepting the fact that they would never find their children, nor their way back to each other—that he would limp through the rest of his days, hollowed-out and alone.

And, yet, here they were.

"It still _is_ hell being apart," she said softly, searching his face.

She remained still, waiting for his answer. He could feel her heart beating against his own, and sensed her trembling fear. As he'd suspected, they'd finally reached the end of the road they'd been travelling for so long, and it was time to choose a different path. He felt a slow smile returning to his face as he looked at her.

In her dark eyes he saw everything they'd ever shared—as lovers, as parents, as friends and allies—and it was beautiful, _all_ of it. Even the parts that were in ruins. Even the parts they'd lost forever.

He had long ago stopped mocking the Force and deriding its mysterious workings, but he was continually developing a deeper appreciation for the power it possessed to change his own life. He wondered if he would ever lose the sense of awe he felt when he sought out that connection between them, felt the magnetic pull of her on the other end of it, and filled the channel with his heart. He watched Leia's expression transform as he returned her feelings tenfold through the Force, powerfully communicating his deepest desire:

 _I want to come home._

That sentiment elicited the most radiant smile he'd seen on her face in a very long time, and a burst of joy blazed between them. She stretched up to meet his offered kiss, her mouth opening beneath his in warm welcome.

 _You_ are _home._

The euphoria that pulsed through their telepathic connection served to magnify the intensity of physical touch. It flooded their mouths, and suffused the intimate slide of their tongues. Han lifted a hand to her face, holding her still so he could taste her, marvelling at the complex flavour of love. He felt electrified with pleasure, and bereft when Leia finally broke the kiss on a gasp and slumped against his chest. He covered her head with his hand and heaved a deep sigh. He knew exactly how she felt, how flooded with feeling, overwhelmed with sensation. She quivered against him, fingers clutching at his chest.

"Yeah, it was hell being apart," Han finally replied aloud, echoing her distant words. He wrapped both arms tightly around her body, rested his head against hers and closed his eyes. "But we're not apart anymore."

* * *

:: :: ::

 **Thanks:** My gratitude goes out to magnificent beta readers **BonesBooth206** and **CoriMariee** for their critical eyes and the excellent suggestions. You made it better.

 **NB:** The next chapter (13) is for adults only. If you are not of age, or if sexually-explicit material is not your thing, then you should skip to chapter 16 (the end). Chapters 14 and 15 refer to "missing scenes" that are archived here as standalone stories ("Recursion" and "The Double Edge").


	13. Chapter 13: Han and Leia

**Ratings/Warnings (this chapter only)** * * * * MA * * * * ADULTS ONLY!

 **Note:** If sexually explicit material is not your thing, you can easily skip this chapter without missing much. (Well, Han would probably take exception to that comment, but you know what I mean.)

Remain in Light – Chapter 13: Leia and Han by Erin Darroch

 **Chapter 13: Leia and Han**

* * *

 **Part 1: The Couch**

"And she'd already rescued _herself_ by the time we got there," Han's voice, tinged with wonder and pride, rumbled in his chest and reverberated against Leia's ear. "When I saw her climbing down that wall, it was like looking at you at that age. But she reminded me of _me_."

"She's the best of us both," Leia murmured her agreement, not even bothering to open her eyes.

She was too content to move. She was stretched out on the hotel couch, barefoot and loose-limbed from too much whiskey, half-draped over Han's long body. He was propped against a cushion, one arm bent behind his head, the other resting heavily across her back. They'd been talking—mainly about Rey—for almost an hour and Han was starting to repeat himself. She smiled against his chest. She didn't mind. They had fourteen years of catching up to do where their daughter was concerned, and only a few scant stories to share.

 _There will be more stories,_ she told herself. _There must be time for more._

She recalled with a warm thrill the look on Han's face an hour before when she'd confirmed that his suspicions were correct—that the girl he'd intercepted above Jakku was indeed their daughter, returned to them at last. He'd been stunned, then exultant and, finally, overwhelmed. He'd dropped his head into his hands, choked with emotion. The sight had moved Leia to tears again, then they'd laughed together over the evening's unprecedented amount of weeping. Han had raised a toast to their absent daughter, and they'd started exchanging detailed accounts of their all-too-brief interactions with her.

There were some stories Leia hadn't shared with him. Not yet. Tonight was not the night to tell him that Rey had watched the confrontation at Starkiller Base, and had witnessed the moment Kylo Ren put a lightsaber through his chest. Someday, she would tell him in greater detail about the first night on D'Qar, when Rey had lain her head in Leia's lap and sobbed her heart out once she finally understood what she'd lost in that moment. It had been a rough night for Rey, and for Leia, too. Ragged with grief, euphoric with relief, devastated, bereft and overjoyed, all at once. They'd stayed awake talking almost the entire night, and had arisen before dawn to sit in the cockpit of the _Millennium Falcon_ , thinking of Han and telling stories.

 _We need more stories together._

"We need to send her a message," Leia said suddenly, her eyes popping open. She lifted her head from Han's chest and saw him crack open one eye to look at her. She raised herself up on one arm and looked at him in mild alarm, her hand coming to rest on his chest. It had almost slipped her mind. "And Chewie! Han, we can't let them continue to think that you're dead!"

"You haven't told them already?" Han asked, surprised. His eyes were open now and he squinted at her in puzzlement. "Why not?"

Leia hesitated, lowering her gaze for a moment before looking back at him."I wanted to wait until you were here." _I wanted to make sure you were actually going to make it here,_ she thought. She was nothing if not a realist, and Han's safe return had not been assured, as far as she was concerned, until the moment she'd seen him step off the shuttle.

Han's lips quirked in silent acknowledgement. "It's alright," he said after a moment, reaching up to smooth a loose strand of hair away from her face, "we can record one on the ship in the morning."

A sudden gurgling noise filled the air, loud enough to be heard above the soft strains of music that wafted through the cosy room. Leia clapped a hand across her middle.

Han's eyes widened. "Is that your _stomach_?" he gawped. "Are you starving?"

Leia laughed lightly and shrugged. "I didn't eat breakfast," she admitted.

"Breakfast!" Han exclaimed. He made a show of craning his neck around to look at the local time displayed in glowing amber characters on the entertainment unit. "Leia, _dinner_ should've been two hours ago."

"Mm, I know," she said, ruefully, disentangling her limbs from his and swivelling around to sit on the edge of the couch. She eyed the level of whiskey remaining in the bottle of Whyren's Reserve on the low table in front of her, and recognised that acquiring some food would probably be a good idea. "I'll order something from room service."

She stood up with her back to the couch and took a moment to stretch languorously. The whiskey and the evening's cathartic conversations had left her feeling pleasantly drained and relaxed to the point of drowsiness. It had been a very good day—but a long one. As she lowered her arms, she felt Han's presence rise behind her, his body grazing against hers as he stood. Wordlessly, he slipped his arms around her waist and she tipped her head to one side to give him easier access to her neck. It was a practiced move, a tender embrace that they'd shared a thousand times in over thirty years of marriage, but the feeling of his mouth on her skin never failed to send an electric arc down through her centre, setting up a warm throb low in her core. The sound of his breathing, the rough scrape of stubble, and the heat of his hands on her body always made her feel giddy. With a pang of regret she thought of the wasted year they'd spent apart, and the months before that when she'd so viciously rejected him, too trapped in her own misery to tolerate his touch. _No more of that_ , she told herself firmly. To deflect the intrusive thoughts, she focused her mind on the pleasurable sensations he was creating with his roaming mouth and rubbing hands, as she gazed through half-closed eyes at the nightscape of Ord Mantell arrayed before them. It felt so good to be with Han, to be loved and wanted, and to be utterly at peace, at least for a while.

The hours since Han's shuttle had touched down had evaporated in a haze of powerful emotion, delicious Corellian whiskey and Force-enhanced kisses. Their weighty conversation had gradually given way to more pleasurable pursuits as their emotional reunion became a more physical one. At first, the combination of sweet words, sensual touch, and telepathic connection had been too potent for either of them to bear for more than a few minutes at a time, and they'd discovered the need to exercise some restraint. At one point, utterly overwhelmed by sensation, Leia had finally stumbled to her feet and crossed the room to put some distance between their bodies, laughing all the while. As much as they were amused by their own reactions, though, they seemed to have tacitly agreed to cool their jets, to slow things down a bit. Shaking, Leia had taken herself out of his reach completely by disappearing to the fresher to splash cold water on her throat and catch her breath. Mingling intimate physical touch with the use of the Force was exhilarating and deliciously exhausting. She couldn't wait to do it again.

Han had the same idea, she realised, as his hands began to roam further afield. He continued nuzzling her neck, his breath hot against her skin. At the same time, he slid his hands from her waist, up her sides, and around to cup her breasts, synchronised thumbs grazing across both nipples through the thin fabric of her camisole. The physical jolt she felt was magnified by a Force vision—the briefest flash—of what he wanted to do to her, what he fully _intended_ to do to her. The combination was intense and she groaned softly.

"Forget about food," Han rumbled, rubbing his mouth against her ear and repeating the gentle flicking across both nipples with his thumbs. "Let's go to bed."

"Mmm," she responded dazedly, "but I'm starving."

She could feel his erection hard against the small of her back, and wondered how they had reached this point again so swiftly. The two of them were like splintered tinder and shaved magnesium, ready to burst into flame at the barest friction. She toyed with the idea of giving in to it, of turning around and shoving him back onto the couch, of straddling him and giving him exactly what he wanted without delay. But the slow-motion dance of approach and retreat was its own great pleasure, and she was enjoying it. And despite his suggestion that they should take it to the bedroom, she knew he was enjoying the teasing, too. The mysterious energy that surrounded them and penetrated them was turning out to be more fun to play with than either of them had imagined.

"I'll order you some Crathulan food...," Han cajoled enticingly, continuing his seductive campaign. He nudged her head with his own to make her tilt it the other way and continued dragging hot kisses up the skin on the other side of her neck. His hands left her breasts and began a slow, meandering descent down the length of her body. "And I'll meet you in the bedroom."

Leia's eyes drifted closed and she struggled to hang on to her train of thought. "But then...we'll be interrupted...when the food arrives..." she said weakly. She recognised that her delaying tactics were growing rather feeble.

Han's low laugh against her ear sent a shiver down her spine. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek, suddenly tender. "You're very generous, Sweetheart. Or optimistic. The food will take at least an hour."

"Maybe so," she murmured, turning in the circle of his arms, and lifting her face to his. "But we'll be making up for lost time." She pushed one hand down between them, fingertips curling around the thick length of his erection through the fabric of his trousers, as she stretched up to meet his offered kiss. His whiskey-flavoured mouth was hot, and his tongue stroked against hers with an urgency that belied his relaxed manner. He wanted her. And he was getting past the point of waiting to have her. She felt his hand on the back of her neck, then his long fingers sliding up into her loosely braided hair, raking softly along the skin of her scalp, making all of her nerve-endings tingle and twitch. As her mouth opened fully to his insistent tongue she sent him a vision of her own making, a quick flash of her near-future plans for him, and was rewarded with a heavy groan.

"On second thought," she said, pulling away abruptly and sidestepping his reaching hand, "meet me in the whirlpool."

"What?" he said blankly, staring after her as she moved towards the bedroom. "Whirlpool?"

Leia stopped in the doorway and turned. "Didn't you see it when you went to the fresher?" she asked. "I made sure to get a room with a hot tub. It would be a shame not to use it."

He stared at her for a moment, clearly flummoxed, and then moved as if to follow. She stopped him with a look. "Not yet, Flyboy," she said. She pointed to the comms panel near the door. "You have Crathulan cuisine to order, remember? If I'm going to keep you busy for an hour, I'm going to need to sustenance. I'll meet you in the pool."

She left him standing with his hands on his hips and a bewildered expression on his face, and headed to the bedroom to strip off her clothes.

* * *

 **Part 2: The Hot Tub**

Leia lay adrift and boneless in the bubbling water. Only the back of her head, propped against a headrest at the end of the tub, anchored her in place and kept her from floating to the centre of the spacious pool. The water was very warm and the sensation of millions of miniscule bubbles rising and skittering along the surface of her skin was pure bliss. She gazed vacantly at the vista beyond the wide window, and the faint glimmer of stars above it, her mind as adrift as her body. The room was dim, lit only by the myriad colours shining from the Ord Mantell cityscape, and the drifting lights of the ubiquitous spaceships as they moved up and down past the window. The lazy motion of the lights—and no doubt the heavy dose of Corellian whiskey coursing through her body—made her feel even more drowsy and limp than she had earlier. She closed her eyes.

There was a soft splash to her right a few minutes later, as Han entered the pool. Leia dragged her eyes open and turned her head to look in his direction. He stood for a moment on the second step, water lapping around his knees as he stared down at her. His face was partially in shadow, but even without being able to see his eyes, she could feel the heat of his gaze as he took in the sight of her bare body afloat in the effervescent water. She felt an appreciative smile steal over her face as she watched him move, too. His entire form was illuminated and shadowed in turns by the vagaries of the ambient light coming through the window. _He is still as gorgeous as he ever was_ , she thought, noting with a thrill the obvious evidence of his strong desire for her. As he stepped down into the water, she frankly admired the lines of his body. He was bulkier now than he'd been in youth, but his skin was still taut; his muscles still powerful and well-defined. Leia's gaze rose higher to seek his face, and, in so doing, she caught a glimpse of the scar on his chest.

Her expression must have given her away because he paused in his movements, suddenly wary. Leia pulled her legs in and sat up against the wall of the pool. She felt her gaze flickering between the scar and his face. The moment stretched between them, the only sounds the liquid bubbling of the whirlpool and the faint strains of the music coming from the common room. _We've already had this conversation_ , Leia thought with conviction. _There is nothing more to say_. And then she remembered their silent resource. She reached out to him through the Force, swelling that slender golden channel with love and reassurance, overcoming his hesitation. He held her gaze as he sank deeper into the water, moving as if drawn by the shimmering mystical cord that stretched between them. He sank down beside her, bumping softly against her with the motion of the water.

She turned towards him then, unreservedly opening her legs and letting the buoyancy of the bubbling water help her drift astride him, her wet hands coming up to his shoulders to keep her balance. Han backed against the side of the pool and slipped his hands behind her knees, pulling her against his hips. The tips of her breasts grazed his chest as they bobbed in the roiling water. She felt the slow slide of his fingertips against the skin of her thighs, as they dislodged thousands of infinitesimal air bubbles and sent them racing to the surface. The hard proof of his desire nudged between her legs, but he did not move immediately to complete their union. Instead, he held her gaze, his eyes glittering with purpose in the dim light.

Leia recognised that look. She had no need of the Force to help her sense his intentions, because she knew that expression very well. His occasional self-deprecating comments to the contrary, Han had always been a generous and patient lover. He seemed genuinely to derive as much enjoyment from giving Leia pleasure as he did in receiving it from her. And now he had that look in his eye that said she was going to be on the receiving end of his attentions. She shivered and gripped his shoulders, feeling her core muscles clench and quiver in anticipation. Her pulse quickened and her breathing changed again as Han's gaze flickered to her parted lips and then back up to her eyes. His eyes crinkled in a smile as he moved to kiss her.

The kiss was kaleidoscopic. As their lips brushed together, Leia felt a rush of vivid emotions flooding from Han, and her throat closed up with the intensity of it. _Love_ —love, most of all. As his mouth claimed hers, she felt the depth of his admiration for her, the strength of his attachment and the warmth of his devotion. His tongue stroked against hers, and she understood his lust and his powerful yearning to be joined to her in every way. Underneath that flood she felt a surge of wonder and a faint thread of trepidation. This was the delicious fusion they'd been toying with all evening, and it was easily living up to Leia's expectations. The sensations were intense, but then they seemed to double when she opened her own mind to his. She wanted Han to feel the same powerful assurance, the certainty of her love for him, the ancient root of it, the complex texture. The intimacy of their telepathic link—combined with the sensual touch of lips, tongues, and roaming hands—eventually overwhelmed them, and they parted on a mutual gasp, dazed and smiling into each other's eyes.

The room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing over the bubbling of the hot tub and the faint musical notes wafting in from the other room. Under the water, Han's hands continued to roam, making a warm circuit up her thighs, curving over her hips, up her back and then gliding around to massage her breasts. After so long apart, his touch was at once sweetly familiar, and exquisitely new. Aching for more, Leia moved her hips deliberately against him, feeling a hot flush suffuse her core as she felt his body's eager response. They shared another intense kiss and then Han withdrew, gently guiding her hips to put some space between them. Holding her gaze, he wrapped one arm around her back and slipped his other hand between her legs. Leia shivered, dropped her head next to his and closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensation as his fingers sought her core, gliding through the slick folds with a gentle confidence borne of long familiarity and years of practice. She was already quivering, her muscles clenching in expectation as he slipped his finger through the cleft in her tender flesh. Sliding obliquely around her most sensitive point, and then up and around again with perfect pressure and rhythm, he manipulated her body as expertly as she could do it herself.

 _Oh, I have missed you._

Leia clutched his shoulders and lifted her head, seeking another kiss like the last. Han complied, tilting his head to capture her mouth with his as she writhed against his stroking hand, aided in her movements by the natural buoyancy of the water and the clutch of her knees around his hips. The occasional brush of her nipples against his skin sent sporadic electric currents through her limbs and jolts to her innermost muscles.

Gripping Han's shoulder with one hand, she lifted the other to his head, trying to hold him still in the turbulent water as their mouths slipped and caught together. Her fingers raked up through his hair, revelling in the familiar texture of it. She delighted in the feel of his skull beneath her fingertips, and in the warmth of his skin under her resting palm. _Alive_. Somehow Han had survived and returned to her, and she couldn't seem to touch him enough, to absorb the reality that he was whole and safe, and in her arms.

She pulled away from his kiss, trying to see his face in the dim light. His expression was one of intense absorption and deep satisfaction as he seemed to monitor the effect he was having on her. A flickering smile passed over his face as his fingers caressed the sensitive skin between her legs, and he watched her react to his touch. He lifted his eyes to hers.

 _I love you._

She answered him with a broad smile, magnifying and returning his feelings through the Force, pouring all of her heart into it. In all their years together, she'd never felt so completely connected to him, although she suspected there were still deeper levels left to explore. The thought made her tremble with anticipation.

Han shifted his arm around her back to hold her steady, as his other hand, already nestled between her legs, inched gradually downward, seeking the entrance to her body. She was already throbbing, aching for him, as he slipped a finger deep inside her, and resumed nuzzling kisses up the side of her neck. The combined effect of his strong arm curled around her back, his mouth on her skin and his hand moving between her legs made her arch against him in reflex, growing more breathless under his touch. She could feel him smiling against her ear as his caressing finger curved up inside her, stroking lightly against the spot that he knew would drive her wild. She jerked involuntarily and clutched his shoulders, shuddering as he slid his fingertip delicately against the tender place. As he withdrew the touch and then slowly repeated the motion—then again, and a third time—she heard herself moan. The sound seemed to excite Han further and she felt his hot mouth on her throat, the graze of his teeth against her skin. Continuing the careful stroking motion, he then adjusted his hand to introduce the light pressure of a knuckle above her swollen flesh, and Leia began to lose control. Her breathing grew laboured and she dropped her head against his shoulder, holding onto him with fierce concentration as he continued his manipulations against the mindless push of her own moving hips. He had a perfect understanding of her body and how to bring her to the edge, drawing her tighter and tighter through a complex pattern of caresses, and strategic withdrawals of his touch. She was helpless to do anything other than strive with him to reach that apex, and all her concentration was bent on it. She felt his hot breath against her ear and, then, for the first time since he'd joined her in the pool, she heard his voice.

"That's it, Sweetheart," he said, his voice rough with desire. "Come for me."

The soft command inflamed her. She turned her face to receive his kiss, then, and shuddered hard against his hand as his tongue invaded her mouth. The stroke of his finger matched the stroke of his tongue, both motions working together in exquisite counterpoint to the erratic bump of his knuckle against that place, that sweet, _sweet_ place...

She groaned into his mouth as she convulsed around his hand and the muscles of her thighs clamped against his hips. For a long moment, with her fingers digging into his shoulders and her eyes shut tight in concentration, the low centre of her body became the centre of everything, the only thing that mattered. She writhed against his touch as the strongest of the spasms receded, and then lay gasping against his shoulder, quivering.

Han brought her gently back to herself, trailing kisses down her neck to her collarbone, as his fingers tenderly retreated from her throbbing body. He relaxed against the side of the tub, steadied her shaking hips with his hands and brought her floating down to rest against the hard length of his erection.

 _You are so good_ , she thought fervently. _So,_ _ **so**_ _good._

She felt him smile against her shoulder as he placed more tender kisses on her fevered skin.

His answer, when he gave it, reverberated in her ear: "I know."

* * *

 **Part 3: The Bed**

Han smiled against Leia's laughing mouth, enjoying the fact that he'd amused her with his conceited quip. He felt immensely pleased with himself on several counts, not least of all with the fact that he was neither dead nor incarcerated—nor was he rattling around the galaxy, light years away from home, and lonely. Instead, he was in a hot tub on Ord Mantell with Leia's naked, pliant body straddling his, her muscles still trembling from the aftershocks of his attentions. Furthermore, she was laughing, smiling into his eyes and looking utterly, completely relaxed. That was a sight he hadn't seen in more years than he cared to remember, and he took a long moment to absorb it.

It had been a very good night so far, and he hoped it would get just a _little_ bit better before the end. With that goal in mind, he wrapped his arms around her again and pulled her close, relishing the feel of her hot core rubbing along his erection. He was burning for her, but long familiarity with this woman had taught him a fine sense of timing. He watched her through half-lidded eyes as they kissed, enjoying the flutter of her dark eyelashes against her cheeks as his tongue explored her yielding mouth. Her lips were soft, and her kiss was languid, tender, in the aftermath of her orgasm. Her breathing was growing calmer, and the pulse under his hand was slowing down, but he didn't want that fire to go out completely; not yet.

With Leia's arms around his neck and her knees braced around his hips, Han's hands were free to explore her body. His slid both hands up to cup her breasts, buoyant and slick in the effervescent water. Rolling her rigid nipples softly between thumb and fingertip, he deepened the kiss and felt her quiescent passion reignite. Her response was immediate and fiery, and he realised with a pang that he was soon going to have to call a halt to the hot tub adventure, and get her into bed before something unfortunate happened. As that thought drifted through his mind, Leia slipped a hand down under the water to take hold of him. Swiftly, he redirected her, lifting her hand out of the water to lay a kiss against her wet knuckles. She gave him a questioning look and rocked her hips against him under the water.

"No?" she asked, her dark eyes quizzical.

"Not yet," he murmured, leaning in for more light kisses, and returning to his rediscovery of her soft body. It had been more than a year—closer to two, in fact—since he'd last enjoyed the feeling of her bare skin against his, and he intended to savour it thoroughly. He nibbled her jaw line as he stroked her, and felt her shuddering against him.

"You know," she said breathlessly, squirming against him as he rubbed and tweaked her under the water. "You've made all of my hot tub fantasies come true."

Han stopped kissing her for a moment to look into her eyes.

"You have hot tub fantasies?" That was news to him. Leia had never been the type to indulge in much verbal exposition in the bedroom, preferring instead to let her actions do the talking. It was a characteristic that had always suited Han just fine, but he was intrigued by her mention of a specific fantasy. Although their newly-formed telepathic bond promised more of that sort of thing in the future, as things stood now, glimpses into that corner of her mind were relatively rare.

"Tell me," he urged, running his hands past her hips and around to squeeze her bottom. He reached a bit further to run his fingertips briefly along the hot crevice between her legs. "What do we do in these fantasies of yours?"

A soft moan escaped Leia's lips at his touch, and he could feel the heat of her core intensifying. She was nearly ready for the second phase of his plan, he noted, smiling at the predictability of her reactions. He loved the way she responded to him. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction, seeing her tremble and melt at the touch of his hands even after all this time. From their first encounter aboard the _Falcon_ until this moment, more than thirty years later, sex between them had always been good, and the introduction of the Force into the equation promised to make it even better.

"Leia," he prompted, seeing her eyes glazing over."Your fantasy?"

"Um," she said, clearly struggling to gather her thoughts. "It started as a dream."

"A dream?" he murmured, inching kisses along her collarbone.

"Yes," she rolled her head back, exposing her throat to his mouth. "I had a dream about us in the whirlpool, the first time we were here on Ord Mantell together. Do you remember that trip?"

"Uh, yeah, I remember that trip," he said darkly, recalling the disastrous consequences more than the romantic aspects. "I don't remember being in a whirlpool."

"We never used it. But there was a hot tub like this one, in our suite," she reminded him, then gave an exaggerated sigh as he continued to caress her body under the water. She was growing breathless again under his touch. "I had a dream...about that hot tub...but it didn't end the way I wanted it to...so that...turned into...a sort of fantasy...for a while..."

He chuckled against her throat, and lifted a hand to her face, guiding her mouth back to his for another molten kiss. Leia's hand left his shoulder and disappeared under the roiling water, reaching between them again with obvious intent. He realised then that it was time to move her out of the water and onto a firmer surface where he could fulfil one of his own fantasies.

"Not here," he said, again halting her advance with a firm hand. "Bed."

She gave him a smouldering look, then released the grip of her knees to drift free of him in the water. He grinned at her as she floated backwards across the pool, holding his gaze with her dark eyes. She'd always been most highly biddable in her post-orgasmic state, Han reflected. It wouldn't last, he knew, but for the next half-hour or so, she would enjoy—well, _tolerate_ —taking orders from him.

"Go," he commanded and watched with satisfaction as she turned to obey.

He followed closely behind her as she emerged from the steaming water and, on impulse, stopped her with a touch as they reached the top. Turning her in his arms, he pulled her warm, wet, naked body against his and slid a hand around the back of her neck as he claimed her mouth again. Releasing her, he reached for one of the towels that hung neatly over the heated rail on the wall, and began to dry her off.

"This is better than my fantasy," she murmured, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as he worked his way down her body with the warm towel.

She submitted to his ministrations, hands resting lightly on his shoulders as he stooped to swab the water from her legs and feet. He whipped the towel around behind her and worked his way back up, planting occasional kisses on her heated skin as he slowly straightened to his full height. Leia was flushed pink and breathing heavily by the time he dropped the damp towel on the floor and grabbed a dry one for himself. She reached to take it from him, clearly intending to return the favour, but he shook his head and gently pushed her in the direction of the bedroom.

"Bed," he said firmly. "I'll be there in a minute."

She gave him a strange look, but turned and disappeared into the next room without comment. _Nice to see her do as she is told now and then_ , he grinned to himself.

He rubbed the hot, dry towel hurriedly over his skin, painfully conscious of the straining erection between his legs. He had deliberately tried to pace himself, to extend their intimacy and to give them some time to get reacquainted, but the delay was beginning to take its toll, and he was growing impatient for release.

As much as he'd fantasised about carrying Leia to bed immediately and having his way with her, he wanted more than that from this reunion, and he knew that she did, too. A year of physical separation—and the months of emotional estrangement that had preceded that—had cost them dearly. Even with the aid of the Force to support and enhance their communication, Han knew that their relationship required careful rebuilding if they wanted to get back to something like where they were before their universe had imploded. And he wanted _that_ more than he wanted anything else—not only to be reunited with Leia in their marriage, but to gather together the remnants of their scattered family, to salvage something good from the ashes that Ben's betrayal had left behind. Tonight, he felt, would be the first step in that direction. Dropping the damp towel on the tiles beside the other one, he went to join his wife in bed.

The darkened bed chamber was richly furnished with a spacious, deep-filled mattress atop a raised platform, a pair of bedside tables and lamps, and an arrangement of a small table and two upholstered chairs near the tall window. The floor was of a rich, dark, polished wood that was almost entirely covered by a thick, luxurious carpet. Leia had kicked most of the sumptuous bedclothes onto the floor and was lying stretched out like a _pittin_ in the middle of the bed, her hair at last unbound from its intricate coils, her body covered only by a thin silken sheet. She lay against a soft pillow with both arms bent above her head, one knee slightly raised, and her dark eyes fixed on him as he entered the room. Han smiled at the picture she made, the very image of relaxation and readiness. Some knot hidden deep inside him seemed to unravel as he looked at her.

He approached from the foot of the bed, slipped the sheet away from her feet and encircled one slender ankle with his hand. Her foot squirmed reflexively as he leaned down to graze the tender skin of her ankle with his lips. He trailed kisses up the inside of one leg, using his hand on the other side to caress the bend of her knee, the flesh of her thigh, the swell of her hip, crawling onto the bed as he advanced to his goal. He kissed his way to the patch of dark curls at the apex of her thighs and enjoyed the shiver that went through her when he planted a lingering kiss there, too. Her fingers clutched at his hair as he tasted her, briefly, a promise for another time, and continued his loving advance up her body. But as he placed a kiss on the softly rounded curve of her belly, he felt her tense slightly. Looking up, he saw her gazing down the length of herself to where his last kiss had landed. Something in her expression made him pause, and he moved up to see her more clearly. Leaning on one elbow, he peered into her pensive face.

"You okay?"

She lifted her eyes to meet his and he could see that there was definitely a shadow there in the dark depths, some spectre that had taken her away from the moment. He frowned in concern and started to speak, but she stopped him with two fingers against his lips and a shake of her head against the pillow. To emphasise her point, she reached out to him through the Force.

 _Don't stop._

In reply, he lowered himself on bent elbow to kiss her waiting mouth. Whatever the worry in her mind, she wanted to set it aside for now, and he was more than willing to let her do that. She responded warmly to his kiss, sliding one hand up to the back of his neck and reaching between them with the other hand to wrap her fingers around him. He groaned with the pleasure of her touch—an achingly familiar sensation he'd come to believe, during the lonely months of their separation, he would never feel again. He didn't want to stop her, but the taste of her mouth and the warm stroke of her hand made an exquisite combination, and he was too far gone. He was afraid that a few more caresses like that would bring the evening to an ignominious end. In any case, he wanted time to reignite the heat in her that had cooled a touch since he'd sent her to bed ahead of him.

With regret, he gently pulled her hand away, unfolded her arm and lightly pinned it above her head. It was his fourth deflection of the evening, though, and Leia looked confused, and slightly piqued.

"Is something wrong?" she said in a tone of mild exasperation, her brown eyes flashing.

"Nothing's wrong," he murmured, releasing her arm to drag his fingertips down the bones of her wrist, across the sensitive skin of her elbow, up to her shoulder and down to her breast.

He leaned in to kiss her and she complied readily enough, but he could feel a touch of reservation now. Reaching out through the Force, he sensed uncertainty, confusion. Suddenly grateful for the insight that the new power provided, he suspended his kisses and placed a soothing hand against her side.

"Leia," he said patiently. "There's nothing wrong. But eighteen months is a _long_ time, and I'm wound a little tight."

She stared at him, and it took him a beat to realise that he'd said something significant, or that what he'd said seemed to have some other meaning for her than it did for him. He wasn't sure how to identify the flutter of emotion that he sensed from her now.

Replaying his words in his own mind, he was still mystified. "What?"

"Eighteen months," she said, her voice hoarse. "So you didn't..." she trailed off, not wanting to put the rest of the question into words.

As her eyes scanned his face, Han suddenly understood where her thoughts had gone, and felt his stomach lurch at the idea of _that_ conversation. He'd just revealed the fact that he hadn't been with anyone else during their time apart, which was true, so it was unlikely to be the cause of any trouble between them. But it did lead on to the obvious next question. Had _she?_

Frankly, he didn't want to know if she'd taken a lover during their year-long separation. They'd certainly parted on bitter enough terms to warrant it and, if she'd taken pleasure or comfort in another man's arms, he supposed he had no right to blame her—although the idea of confirming it filled him with dread. Leia had always attracted admirers, and Han had always been aware of who those admirers were, just as he also knew that Lee Statura was the likeliest candidate to have made an overture to Leia in Han's absence. She'd worked closely with Statura for years and although—to Han's knowledge—he'd never stepped over the line, the younger man's open professional admiration of Leia did little to mask his obvious personal attraction to her. But if that _were_ the case, if Leia had taken up with someone like Statura in his absence, it wasn't something Han wanted dragged out into the open either. So, he hadn't asked. But here it was, in the open, and he was suddenly afraid she was going to break his heart.

As he struggled to think of what to say next, Leia opened the telepathic channel between them. Han realised then that he ought to be quicker to reach for that conduit whenever the terrain between them seemed too difficult to navigate. It sure beat the hell out of fighting. As he stared down into Leia's dark eyes, he felt the warmth of that connection, the rosy-golden glow that emanated from her and enveloped him. She reached up to frame his face with both hands, thumbs tracing the outline of brow and cheekbone, lips and chin. Her eyes roamed his face with an open expression of desire, devotion and love.

 _Only you. Only you._

Han held her gaze, feeling the wave of strong reassurance washing over him. It was as plainly expressed as if she had spoken the words aloud, and he couldn't help the relieved grin that spread across his face. She returned his smile, and suddenly Han felt he could take on anything, survive any number of calamities, as long as Leia would continue to look at him like that.

He felt her stir against him then, as she drew her knee up along his side and wrapped her leg around his hip. Han lowered his head to nuzzle behind her ear as he slid one hand up the length of her thigh, then around to reach between her legs. He teased through the curls there with light, lazy circles, and then with long, slow strokes of his fingers against her soft skin. Leia slipped a hand down between them, and her knowledgeable touch soon brought him surging back, rock-hard and aching. As he turned his face to hers for another kiss, Leia pushed against his hand and moaned softly into his mouth, a signal that sent a blaze of lust rushing through him. He was seized then with an overwhelming need, instantaneous and powerful, to be inside her, to reclaim her as his own.

A moment later, he was poised above her, one knee nudging her thighs apart, the weight of his body on his arms as he lowered his mouth to hers. Leia reached down to guide him inside, even as her lips parted to accept his tongue. With a low groan, he slid slowly into warmth and exquisite wetness, then dropped his head down next to hers and thrust himself fully into her pliant body, forcing a gasp from them both. He didn't move for a long moment, overcome with the warm rush of love and pleasure emanating from Leia as she settled beneath him, taking his weight and his presence inside her with a feeling of deep satisfaction that he could sense through the open channel between them. The sensation was novel and thrilling, as if he were experiencing their union from both perspectives. He lifted his head and saw the same look of surprise and wonder reflected in her dark eyes.

"Leia," he whispered, imbuing her name with all of his desire and devotion. He felt her muscles clench around him in response, even as she wrapped her legs around his hips and her hands came up to frame his face. Locked together for the first time in a long time, they drifted in for another deep kiss, tongues stroking together in intimate imitation of their joining.

Han's body began to stir almost of its own accord, the primitive demand overriding all thought. He moved within her and felt her respond on every level—writhing most appealingly against him, using her entire body to express her physical desire—but also reaching out through the Force, inundating him with tenderness and love, and the joy of reunion. Their yearning spirits met and entwined in that golden channel as their bodies strained together, and awareness of everything else fell away. For an age, Han lost himself in exquisite sensation, feeling the succulent sheath of Leia's body pulsing around him with each thrust of his hips. She held him close against her, one hand tangled in his hair, the other roaming up and down his body as she whispered in his ear, sweet sounds that filled an aching, empty space inside him that had long ago been locked down and ignored. Han lifted his head to meet her eyes again, and felt their connection intensify. This was his _wife_ —the woman at the centre of his life for over thirty years—and he'd come perilously close to losing her forever. The fleeting thought made him hold her even tighter, made him pour his heart out to her in the only way he knew how. As their mouths locked together again, Han had the strange and thrilling sensation that they were merging, bonding on some level beyond anything he'd experienced before, and he could tell that Leia felt it, too.

As they moved together in perfect affinity, he could feel her climax building. She began moving beneath him with increasing urgency, reaching down to grip his hips, and grinding against him with intense concentration—but he was too far ahead of her, and he knew it. Changing the angle of his body, he reached for one of her hands and guided it between them. Needing no further direction, she found the place where they were joined, and added the delicate circling of her fingertips to the movement of him inside her. Han was inflamed by the sight and sound of her, by the bump of her hand between them, and the gasps and wordless vocalisations coming from her with each thrust. Arching beneath him was the feral version of Leia, her hair unbound, her whole body aglow and covered in a sheen of perspiration, with that faraway look in her dark eyes that he recognised and adored. She was free, for a fleeting moment, of everything that had come before. Nothing existed of war, pain, loss or sacrifice; nor of tragedy or betrayal. For a few moments, the only thing that mattered was the love they shared, and the complex, beautiful connection between them.

The sensation of slick friction finally unhinged Han's capacity for thought, and his body took over, mindlessly thrusting with urgent need as Leia began to clench and convulse around him. She moaned softly with each push of his hips, and the dim room seemed to darken further as he lost himself inside her writhing body. He lifted his head at the last instant to look at her face—she was flushed and wild, her head tilted back, and a soft, satisfied groan emanating from her throat. He buried his face in the hollow by her neck and finally let himself go.

* * *

 **Part 4: Pillow-Talk**

"Oh, that was...pretty good," Leia pronounced, gasping for air as Han finally lifted his weight off of her, and collapsed onto his side.

A laugh burst from him then, and it took him a moment to summon the strength for a more articulate response.

" _Pretty good!_ " He lifted his head to gape at her in mock outrage. It was an old script, but he knew his lines by heart.

"Okay, I'd go so far as to say really _quite_ good," she amended, right on cue. She kept a straight face, but her rich voice was laden with laughter.

"I'd get up and make you change that to...to... _excellent_ , at the very least...," Han gasped, abandoning the game. He dropped his head back to the mattress, and tried to catch his breath. "If I could move."

She did laugh then, and rolled towards him as he shifted onto his back. Ducking under his embracing arm, she wrapped herself around him, her head on his shoulder, one arm and one leg draped across his body. Her heartbeat thumped against his ribs, and the heat of her skin and her laboured breathing matched his own, as their vibrant telepathic link began to fade. The sensation of being fused together in that invisible dimension gradually subsided, leaving behind a slender golden thread of connectedness that hummed between them. As Han's pulse began to slow, he rubbed one hand up her bare back and sighed with deep contentment.

After a moment, he felt the faintest brush of her lips against his heated skin, as Leia confessed in a whisper, "That was _amazing_."

"You sound surprised, Princess," Han mumbled, without opening his eyes. He agreed wholeheartedly with her assessment, but he could feel himself swiftly descending into a post-coital coma, and he didn't feel very much inclined to fight it.

"Well," she said, stretching against the length of him and running a warm palm over the contours of his abdomen. "It _has_ been a while. And we're not as young as we used to be."

Han cracked open one eye to peer down at her. "Yeah, well, we're not as _old_ as we're _going_ to be, either. I still have a few good years left in me, Sweetheart." He gave her a gentle squeeze and a pat on the hip. "And so do you."

"Gee, thanks," Leia smiled against his chest.

"And that business with the Force..."

Han knew he didn't need to elaborate. As he'd suspected, their telepathic link had greatly intensified the pleasure of their physical communion, but it had also—thrillingly—seemed to strengthen the emotional bond between them.

They lay in warm, companionable silence for a while. Han drifted in a half-dream, feeling drowsy and satisfied with Leia in his arms.

"I had almost forgotten this...," she said suddenly, startling him back to wakefulness.

"What?"

"Mmm, the way you smell," she murmured, rubbing her face against the skin of his chest, "I missed your scent."

Han was flummoxed by that. "You missed my _scent_?" he said incredulously, wondering if he would ever really understand women. "Of all my wonderful qualities, you missed that the most?"

"I didn't say I missed it the _most_ ," she corrected, stretching up to nuzzle his neck, sniffing in an exaggerated manner. "But, yes, you smell so... _you_. And it was the most difficult thing to recall..."

"Interesting," Han mused drowsily. "I would've thought you'd miss other things more..."

"Well, I did. I missed your magic hands."

Another laugh erupted from him then. " _Magic_ , huh? Well, you're getting closer, I guess," he said agreeably, opening his eyes to look at her smiling face. "What specific part of you missed my 'magic' hands the most?" he leered, playfully running his fingertips around to the most likely spots.

Leia's laughing response was a balm for his soul. It reminded him of the first time he'd ever heard that sound, when he, Chewbacca and Luke had returned to the Rebel base after the Battle of Yavin. Leia had hailed them all as heroes and grabbed Han in a warm hug. That feeling—being on the receiving end of her genuine approval and her high regard—had become something of a life goal for him, a fact he only scarcely acknowledged in his own mind and had never verbalised to her. He wondered if their increasing reliance on the Force to enhance their communication would lead to some interesting revelations on both sides. He hugged Leia to his side.

"Anyway, I think it's pretty obvious you missed some of my other magic parts, too," he ventured, and then grinned when she snorted. He could almost feel her rolling her eyes.

They rested in silence for another moment, and Han was on the verge of sleep when she spoke again.

"I missed everything. I missed _this_ ," she said quietly, nestling against his shoulder and running one hand down his bare abdomen. "I missed _you_."

She lifted her head to give him a sweet, lingering kiss. As she drew away, she glanced down at his chest and seemed to realise where she had been resting her head, atop the livid pink flesh of the hollowed-out scar where Ben's lightsaber had impaled his body. She blanched and pulled her head back, then propped herself up on one elbow to look at it more carefully. Han waited, suddenly wide awake and mindful of the fact that his heart was racing again, and not in a good way. He hoped like hell that one day the prospect of talking about Ben with Leia wouldn't scare him so much, or cause either of them pain.

"Does it hurt much?" she asked.

She looked disturbed, but not distressed. Her fingertips traced the hard, puckered edge of the roughly oval cavity. It was deep, although not as deep as it might have been. The hydrogel had done its job in rebuilding much of the tissue that had been burned away, but there remained a divot that would never disappear. The surface of the scar still showed the livid, shiny pink colour of new flesh, although the medics had told him the intensity of that shade would fade in time. For now, however, it remained a nasty reminder of what they would face when they returned to the Resistance base and resumed their regular lives. There were some difficult conversations ahead—about Kylo Ren, his master Snoke, and the First Order. Although Han wasn't looking forward to those, he felt much more confident now that he and Leia would be able to survive those discussions without turning on each other or imploding.

"Yeah, it hurts a little, sometimes," Han said quietly, finally answering her question. He knew what she was really asking. "But the worst thing is that it reminds me of what's happened to Ben. Makes me think of things I don't like thinking about."

She nodded her understanding and rested her hand over his heart, looking profoundly sad.

"But I'm alright, Sweetheart," he continued, addressing the question about his mental and emotional state that she'd left unspoken. "I survived it, and that may make some sort of difference to how all of this plays out." He shrugged, thinking of Phasma and her view that Han's survival would somehow slow or halt the rise of Kylo Ren. He hadn't yet explained all of those details to Leia, but he would have to do it soon, he knew. He would need her counsel on how best to proceed—or indeed whether to proceed at all. Perhaps the situation with Ben would be better served if Han stayed "dead" for a while—or perhaps it was a matter of some urgency that he should fulfil his promise to Phasma to make a public showing of his survival. As impatient as ever with such political manoeuvring, he heaved a deep sigh. For now, he was content to set those thoughts aside, and to enjoy the feeling of having his wife in his arms again. He hugged her against his side. "I don't know. But, anyway, it brought me back here, to you. So, it's not all bad."

Leia blinked at that and met his gaze. Her expression lightened slightly and she gave him a little nod.

"That's one way to look at it," she said, and she lowered her head again, hiding the scar from view.

That seemed to put the matter to rest for a while, Han realised with relief. Reaching up to caress Leia's hair with one hand, he tenderly stroked fine strands away from her face with his fingertips as he peered down at her resting head. Her once-dark hair was mostly cinnamon now and some of those strands were fading to gold; a few had already turned to silver. His heart swelled with a rush of love for her so strong it overpowered his ability to control it, spilling out unbidden into the mystical channel between them.

 _I love you so much, Sweetheart._

He could feel her smile against his skin in response to his silent message, before she turned to prop her chin on his chest.

"I want to know," she said, her tone brightening with curiosity, "how you're able to use the Force to communicate now."

He gave a short laugh and rocked his head against the pillow. "No idea. I was stuck in that cell. I wanted to talk to you. I really _needed_ to talk to you. And I had nothing better to do, so I just sat there 'reaching out with my feelings' until you picked up the comm," he said.

She stared at him for a moment before she started to laugh. She buried her face against this chest and he could have sworn that her light laugh was verging on a giggle. She calmed down for a moment, but then she started laughing again and he couldn't help but join her. It _was_ funny, when he thought about it. At length, Leia's amusement subsided and she reached up to wipe her eyes, gasping softly.

"You, of all people," she said, mirth lacing her voice as she rocked her head against his shoulder. "I can't imagine how it happened. Or why _now_? After all this time? You should be far too old to develop sensitivity to the Force."

"Hell if I know," Han said flatly. "I'm still not convinced this isn't all just a weird dream."

Leia sobered slightly. "I hope not. I mean, I hope _this_ part isn't a dream. And I hope we can keep communicating that way. It helps. It helps _so much_."

Han craned his head down to catch her eye and they exchanged amused glances, recalling the other useful applications of their telepathic link that they'd discovered this evening. He grinned at her and dropped his head back with a sigh.

"I think it has something to do with Breha," he ventured, then acknowledged Leia's corrective nudge with a shrug and a smile. "Okay. Something to do with _Rey_."

It wasn't the first time he'd had the thought, but it was the first time he'd voiced it aloud. In the hours he'd spent waiting for his extraction from the medical centre, he'd carefully retraced his steps back to the first moment he'd become aware of something strange going on—what he now recognised as the Force working within him—and he was convinced it had begun within moments of discovering his daughter and her friend crouched under the deck plates aboard the _Falcon_. Han waited for Leia's response, wondering what she would think of his speculation. To his surprise, he felt her nodding against his shoulder.

"The Force is at work here, Han. It brought her back to us. Somehow, it helped her find you—or you to find her. I don't understand it. I don't know if _anyone_ understands it. But I can feel it..." Her voice trailed off as she mulled it over. "And if _you_ can feel it now, too, I think there's something amazing going on."

"I have to agree with the 'amazing' part. Amazing and really, really _weird_."

Leia laughed softly, then stretched up to nuzzle her face against his neck in affection. He smiled and squeezed her tighter. The longer he held her, the better he felt—about everything. Through the Force, he could feel her love for him washing over him like a warm wave. He closed his eyes and drifted for a while in contentment.

"Funny how it works, though," he murmured at length. "Emotions come in loud and clear, and imagery. But words...not so much." In all the years he'd been exposed to Force users, he'd never asked for details about the way they'd communicated with each other, but he'd always assumed it resembled a normal conversation. The whole business had seemed mystifying and a little creepy.

"Luke can do it," Leia said. "He's much better at that sort of thing than I am."

Her casual comment made Han think about the mission that Chewbacca and Rey had embarked upon to retrieve Leia's brother from his place of exile. He wondered what Luke would make of Rey, and she of him.

As that thought flitted through his mind, the door chimed, announcing the arrival of their long-forgotten dinner.

* * *

 **Part 5: Dinner**

"Not bad, Hotshot," Leia said, arching one eyebrow at him as she popped another piece of crispy Crathulan _tsitchen_ in her mouth. Reaching for another handful of the golden-brown delicacies, she nodded her head towards the local time display on the entertainment unit. "Almost an hour."

"Nope," he corrected her smugly, taking a swallow of his drink. "One hour _and ten minutes_. If you count some of that business on the couch..."

She smiled at him—the genuine, eye-crinkling, very _Leia_ smile that he loved best—and resumed her enthusiastic munching. Han sighed as he sat back from his own empty plate, enjoying the spectacle of Leia trying to consume her own body weight in Crathulan food. Han had pulled his trousers on to answer the door, as she'd slipped away to the fresher. He'd been pleased to see her join him in the common room a few minutes later wearing his shirt, with her legs and feet bare. They now sat across from each other on the floor, with the low table between them. The lights were still low, the music was still playing, and Leia's cheerful mood continued undiminished. Han was content.

Leia sat facing the window, with her back against the couch, gazing vacantly at the ceaseless drifting lights of the Ord Mantell evening. She was slowing down, he noted, and nibbling somewhat less ravenously now. The lights shining in from the window changed colours, limning her face in blue and gold, and Han was reminded of Rey.

"She looks a lot like your mother," he said abruptly, as soon as the realisation popped into his head. He didn't need to explain who he meant. His thoughts and Leia's naturally kept circling back to their absent daughter, as did their conversation. Leia looked at him and nodded her agreement.

"Yes," she said softly, dropping the last piece of _tsitchen_ onto her plate, untouched. She reached for a napkin and wiped her hands. "Very like her. She's beautiful."

They shared a smile, and Han thought about the images of Padmé Amidala Naberrie that Luke had found on the Holonet years ago, and had shared with Leia. After discovering the identity of their biological father, it had been a relatively straightforward task to identify their mother, too. Han had been interested to learn that Padmé, like Leia, had become embroiled in politics at a very young age, and had lived a life in public service, first in a royal house, and later as a senator. The images Luke had gleaned from old archives showed a small, slim, dark-haired woman whose lovely features were echoed in those of her daughter and—now that he thought about it—in those of her granddaughter, too.

Han liked to think that Rey got at least some of her spirit and cunning from himself, though, as well as her height. Every time he thought about her, of what he'd learned about her in the scant time they'd spent travelling from Jakku to Takodana, and later at Starkiller Base, he was impressed all over again. The idea of her abroad somewhere in the galaxy looking for Luke made him feel queasy, though, and he had to remind himself that she was with Chewie. She was also as capable and resourceful as her mother and, reportedly, still strong in the ways of the Force.

On the journey to Ord Mantell, Han had grilled both Poe and Finn for details about what had happened at Starkiller Base. Dameron had demurred, explaining that he had no first-hand knowledge of Rey's encounter with Kylo Ren, and citing Leia's express wish to talk to Han about it in person. Finn had been slightly more forthcoming, but he could shed little light on the subject; he'd been injured and rendered unconscious by Kylo Ren and had awoken only after Rey was gone. Neither man—whether by Leia's directive or of their own accord—had mentioned Leia's recognition of Rey as their lost daughter.

"What's on your mind?" Leia asked.

Han realised with a start that she'd been watching him, and that his face had been unguarded. In the next instant, he remembered that they had finally developed the capacity to talk about their children without the conversation ending in an argument or tears. And they had a secondary form of communication to resort to, in case words failed them. He gave her a wry smile.

"Just thinking about her," he admitted. "And Luke. And what it means."

"What it means?" she echoed, leaning towards him.

Han sighed and tried to find the words. "The Force. Rey's abilities. Luke training her again, and where that will lead her. I don't know. Everything. _All of it._ I'm afraid for her."

The simple admission moved Leia to reach out a hand across the table, and he took it. "Me, too," she said quietly.

"I don't want her to confront Ben," he blurted, conscious of the fact that his voice had grown hoarse and his chest felt tight. He hadn't realised until he said the words aloud how horrified he felt at the thought of Rey facing off with Ben, and what that would mean for one or both of their children, as well as for himself and Leia. "I'm afraid that's where this is heading, and I don't like it." That was putting it mildly; the thought made him feel sick. "And I don't want Snoke getting his hooks in her, either, Leia. I couldn't live through that again. _We_ couldn't.

Leia gripped his hand to get his attention and he looked into her dark eyes.

"That is why we need Luke," she said softly. "Rey is strong. She's _incredibly_ strong in the Force, Han. You know that. She's stronger than Ben, and always has been. She stood against him more than once, despite the fact that he's had years of training, and she has not. She needs to work with Luke, to develop her abilities and to prepare."

Leia paused. She scanned his face, and he could tell that she was also reading him through the Force, trying to determine how he was responding to her words. After a moment, she continued. "Ben knows by now that his sister has found her way back to us. And we know that Snoke is in complete control of Ben _now_ , but we don't know if that was the case when he—." She faltered and swallowed hard. "We don't know how much control Snoke had over him back then. Maybe Ben dumped her on Jakku to spite us—or _maybe_ he hid her there and wiped her mind to protect her from Snoke."

Han blinked. He hadn't considered that possibility before, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Before he could process his thoughts, though, Leia forged ahead.

"Regardless, Han, I think we have to go on the assumption that there _will_ be another confrontation. Sooner or later, Rey will meet up with Ben again, and if Snoke has found out about her, we can count on the fact that he will want to turn her, too. She needs to be ready."

Leia's words chilled Han to the bone. It was exactly what he didn't want to hear. But he knew that Leia was a pragmatist, and she believed wholeheartedly in the necessity of facing her enemies head-on. And it seemed, after what Ben had done to Han, even Leia accepted that their son must be counted among that number now. He nodded.

"Well, we can't let her do that alone," he said, his throat going dry at the thought.

"She won't be alone," Leia said firmly. "She has all of us. You and me. Chewie. And Luke, too, I hope. We're Ben's family, and we must all face him, together. If he won't turn back to the light, then we're going to have to _stop_ him— _and_ his master—before they do even more harm."

On that sombre note, Leia climbed gracefully to her feet and extended a hand in invitation. He took it and stood up beside her. He felt her reaching out to him through the Force as he gathered her against him. Through that fluid connection he felt the truth of her words, and realised that she was at peace with those stark facts, or as much as she could be under the circumstances. He placed a soft kiss on her temple and simply held her in his arms, amazed all over again at her remarkable strength. They swayed together for a while, lost in peaceful communion, and then Leia spoke again.

"Rey has something else besides us, Han. She has _this_. She has access to this incredible energy, and she's truly gifted at manipulating it. We've known that since she was born. She has her family around her now, to help and support her, but she also has the Force, and we both know by now what a powerful ally that can be."

She looked up at him with her dark eyes shining, her cinnamon-silver hair loose around her shoulders, and the soft glow of the distant lights on her luminous skin. Han sighed and bent to kiss her again.

He could no longer argue with that.

* * *

 **Note:** Many thanks to **BonesBooth206** , **CoriMariee** and **Aquarius-1977** for their generous beta services.

 **NB:** You could stop here and read "Recursion" and then "The Double Edge", as they fall chronologically between this chapter and chapter 16 (Rey). I wrote them a little later, after I'd already finished this story, so they can be found as separate stories on this archive.


	14. Chapter 14: Recursion

**Chapter 14: Recursion**

 _Recursion_ was written later and posted on this archive as a standalone story, but chronologically it belongs here (if you want to read them in order).

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 **Notes:**

Thanks for all the lovely messages and reviews for _Remain in Light_ , but I think this is _it_ for me in terms of writing _TFA_ -era fanfiction. I wrote 99% of this follow-up/chapter many months ago, but ran out of steam (and developed a strong aversion for all fics mentioning "Ben Solo" or "Kylo Ren"—even my own). Although I felt compelled to write in response to _The Force Awakens_ when I first saw it, I think I've gotten it out of my system.

So, I'm gonna stick with writing in the era of the OT for now...and perhaps venture a little bit into a brighter future for Han and Leia that will never include a corrupted child called "Ben" at all. To that end, I've written fluffier, smuttier fics on my own, and in collaboration with Sue Zahn **(suezahn)** and Justine Graham **(justinegraham)**. I hope you'll read and enjoy those stories, too.

NB: Don't forget to "follow author" if you want new story reminders from me. I will not be updating _Remain in Light_ again. Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15: The Double Edge

**Chapter 15: The Double Edge**

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 **NB:** _The Double Edge_ has been posted as a standalone story, but chronologically it belongs here, between chapter 14 (Recursion) and the final chapter (Rey) of _Remain in Light._ The full text of _The Double Edge_ can be found on this archive.


	16. Chapter 16: Rey

**Note:** This is it. End of the line. This chapter is just a wee bonus for sweet Rey, who needs a cuddle.

 **WARNING:** _Mush._ This is Sentimental City!

Remain in Light - Chapter 16: Rey by Erin Darroch

 **Chapter 16 (Epilogue): Rey**

* * *

"You're distracted, Rey," Luke said in a gentle tone. "Focus on where you are and what you are doing. You must set aside all other thoughts and feelings."

Rey was acutely reminded by her uncle's comment that he was critically observing her efforts. Even from her upside-down position, she could see the half-smile flickering in his blue eyes. She lost concentration, wobbled and then tumbled from her handstand onto the deck plates of the _Falcon_ 's main hold. An assortment of objects crashed to the floor along with her, including an old blaster scope, and a handful of power cells, creating a clatter that reverberated through the corridors. She rolled to a seated position, heaved a tired sigh and stood up, dusting her hands off on the seat of her trousers.

"Sorry," said Rey. She wiped her sweaty face against the sleeve of her tunic, and shook her arms and shoulders out to loosen them. "I am _trying_."

Luke opened his mouth as if to retort, then seemed to think better of it. He shook his head and gave Rey a wry smile. "Well, that's enough ' _trying_ ' for one day. You need to rest and meditate. I'll make us something to eat."

 _[*I have already prepared a meal.*]_ Chewbacca growled as he entered the hold from the corridor that led to the galley. He stepped carefully over the objects scattered on the deck plates. _[*Clear this mess so we can eat,*]_ he grumbled. The Wookiee disappeared down the corridor, headed to the cockpit.

"Thanks, Chewie," Rey called after him, beginning to scoop up the fallen items. "Sorry!"

She'd learned to her cost that a hungry Wookiee was a grumpy Wookiee, and she was keen to avoid delaying Chewbacca's meal time. When she was finished tidying up, she turned to face her instructor, who was waiting patiently to speak with her again.

Luke regarded her with a neutral expression, his pale blue eyes looking at her with cool detachment, but there was a shade of admonition in his tone as he spoke. "You need a calm mind to maintain that level of control," he told her. "A focused mind. And you _definitely_ are not focused."

She hung her head for a moment, her shoulders slumping. She knew he was right. She could not seem to gather her scattered thoughts, or calm her fluctuating emotions. Her body, too, was in a state of agitation, muscles jumping, nerves jangling. She drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to centre herself.

"You're thinking about tomorrow," Luke said, not unkindly. "Instead of concentrating on today. You will always struggle to use the Force when you're in that state of mind. You know that."

Rey nodded contritely. "I know, Luke. I'm just...so..." Her voice trailed off. She couldn't even put a name to what she was feeling.

Luke regarded her with apparent affection for a moment, studying her face. Rey returned his look, her eyes roaming his haggard visage. It was an indulgence to be able to stare openly at him; she often found herself stealing surreptitious glances at him when he was otherwise occupied, searching his bearded profile and scanning his sturdy figure for any resemblance to her mother. For twins, they looked nothing alike, as far as she could tell, and yet there was something about Luke, some quality that she could _almost_ see, which reminded her of Leia. She suspected that he was looking at her and seeing something similar.

"Come on," Luke said, breaking into her thoughts. Clapping her gently on the shoulder he steered her towards the galley. "Let's get the food on the table before Chewie comes back through here. He's _much_ better company when he has a full stomach."

"I've noticed," Rey said dryly, leading Luke to the kitchen.

She leaned a hip against the counter as she watched him collecting plates, cups and utensils. He handed them to her to carry, reached to collect a large bowl of what looked like cold _tsitchen_ salad that Chewbacca had prepared, and then leaned down to the chiller to collect a flask of water.

"On the way to Takodana, Han told me some stories about Chewie..." She trailed off, thinking about Han for the hundredth time that day. _My father._ Wondering what it would be like to see him again, knowing now who he was to her. And Leia, too. _My mother._ She savoured those words. _Mother. Father. My family._ She felt a flutter of excitement at seeing them both, together, at the same time. The prospect seemed like a dream.

"Aaand...there you go again," Luke leaned in and dipped his head to catch her gaze. "Your eyes give you away. They're full of stars when you're daydreaming."

"I'm not _daydreaming_ ," she protested, following him through the corridor to the main hold. "I'm just...speculating." Together, they laid out the meal, and Rey poured water into their cups.

"I can imagine what you're _speculating_ about," he said with a smile. "And it's no wonder you're distracted. _I'm_ distracted, and I should know better."

He waited for her to slide around to the centre of the curved bench that wrapped around the ancient holochess table that served as their dining area. He slipped in beside her as Chewbacca lumbered into the hold. The Wookiee joined them at the table, sitting in his accustomed position on the far end, where he could more easily fit his massive bulk.

 _[*It is difficult to think of anything else*]_ , Chewbacca growled softly. _[*Solo is alive. I cannot imagine how.*]_

"It's a mystery," Luke admitted with a nod. "I'm looking forward to learning the details." He lifted his fork and turned his attention to his meal.

Rey spooned some _tsitchen_ salad onto her plate and then into her mouth, and chewed, too hungry to comment further. They were right, of course, about what she'd been thinking. The knowledge that Han had somehow survived the attack at Starkiller Base had obsessed her mind almost continuously in the days since the holocomm message had arrived. She'd witnessed Solo's confrontation with Kylo Ren, and she'd seen the sputtering red blade of the lightsaber piercing Han's body. She'd watched him fall, screaming her throat raw as he'd spiralled away into the depths, screaming until he'd been lost to view. She had not doubted for a moment that he was dead. She'd been certain of it.

On arrival in D'Qar, she'd been met on the landing field by Leia—a stranger to Rey, but one to whom she'd felt powerfully drawn and strangely connected nevertheless. Rey had learned on that hazy afternoon the stunning truth of her parentage, and had experienced a new depth of pain when she understood exactly what it was that she'd lost when Han fell. After so many years of wishing and yearning and hoping to see her family, it was gut-wrenching to realise that her father had been there beside her for days, had spoken to her, helped her—had even offered her a place working beside him—and she had not recognised him.

In the days after her arrival on D'Qar, Rey's mind had reeled in shock from the other facts Leia laid out before her. Although she'd sensed that Leia was holding back, cautiously feeding her only the most relevant information in the most basic way, she hadn't pressed immediately for more details because, deep in her heart, she didn't think she could handle any more. It had been difficult enough over the past few days to accept the reality that her father was gone forever, that she'd been _so close_ to the reunion she'd longed for, but now the opportunity to know him had passed.

And then Han had sent them a message.

Just two days into their journey from Ahch-To to the Nastasi system, she and Luke had been engaged in a training session in the centre of the main hold floor when an astonished roar reverberated from the Comms station. Chewbacca had jumped to his feet and _**roared**_ —it was a primal, wordless bellow that shook the deck plates and rattled the hanging harnesses that dangled from the hold walls. Rey had been startled into a loss of concentration that earned her a painful zap from the hovering training remote. She'd grabbed the remote and deactivated her lightsaber only to notice that Luke suddenly had the hilt of _his_ lightsaber in his hand, his thumb hovering above the activation matrix. The two of them exchanged glances, put their weapons away in unison and crossed the hold to see what Chewbacca was howling himself hoarse about. The big Wookiee was gesticulating wildly, pointing at the comms station and baying inarticulately.

"Chewie, _ssh_!" Rey had said, trying to get around him without getting knocked in the head. "I can't understand you. What is it? What's wrong?"

 _[*Look, Little One. Your father is_ _ **alive.**_ _*]_

The memory of that thrilling moment would never fade, Rey thought. It was the instant when a thousand possibilities, all extinguished beyond hope of resurrection, had come blazing back to life. She had gaped at the wavering blue-white holographic image of Han and Leia that was playing atop the console, trying to understand what was happening. Hearing Han's tinny voice and absorbing his words, she'd whirled to look at Luke, expecting to see her own astonishment reflected in his face; instead, she'd realised with a jolt that he already knew. Confused, she'd turned back to look at the flickering image again, her heart in her throat. She had stood for a long moment at the comms station in a state of shock, vaguely aware of Luke's utter stillness, and of Chewbacca's clamorous rejoicing. It had taken a long time before she could move, and when she had, she'd moved to replay the message.

Finishing the last bite of her salad, Rey put her fork down and placed one hand each on the arms of her companions, as if preparing to make an announcement. They paused their meals and looked at her as she finished chewing, and swallowed.

"I want to watch it again," she said, and grinned self-consciously at their resulting amusement.

"Oh, that's a surprise," Luke said fondly, sliding around to let her out. "How many times is that now?"

"I'll clean the galley first," Rey offered, ignoring his question. _Ten times_ , she thought. _Maybe eleven_.

"No, I'll do it. You go watch it again," Luke said. He, too, had finished his meal, but Chewie was scooping another portion onto his plate, chuckling in Wookiee fashion at Rey's enthusiasm. Luke disappeared into the galley with his plate and Rey's in hand, and Rey went to sit at the Comms console.

She pulled up the file and rapidly pressed the key sequence that would replay the message. Nibbling distractedly on a thumbnail, she watched again as the animated three-dimensional image of Han and Leia came into view. On impulse, she jabbed the button to freeze the picture, her eyes scanning the tiny scene presented in the hologram. Han was foremost in the frame, with Leia slightly behind. The two of them were seated close together, their sides touching, to fit into the picture. The frame captured the moment before Han leaned back to begin speaking. He was leaning forward slightly with his arm extended towards the recorder. Rey smiled at the illusion that it created, that he was reaching towards her.

She examined the image, trying to soak up as much knowledge as she could about the couple it represented from the scant evidence presented. _My family_. Those words had been worn almost bare in her mind over the span of years she'd spent on Jakku. She scarcely had any idea what they meant. She'd spent a few days with Han, and a few days with Leia, but the time had passed like a whirlwind, and so much had happened since then, it was all a blur in her memory. She felt electrified with excitement at the prospect of seeing each of them again, and of seeing them together.

She had some vague memories from early childhood of the mother and father she'd lost, but the memories had been worn threadbare by the passing of time and she could no longer be certain which were true recollections and which were merely fantasies borne of longing. One of the reasons she kept re-watching the holo was to try and reconcile her hazy recollections of those distant ghosts with the reality of Han Solo and Leia Organa. It was also, she supposed, an effort to make sense of everything that had happened since she'd left Jakku. She'd dreamed for so long of a reunion with her family, and had been so convinced that it would happen on Jakku, it was difficult to believe that it had taken the act of leaving the planet for her to find them.

 _Tomorrow_ _!_ Her stomach flipped with excitement. _Tomorrow, I will see them both_.

She pressed the replay button again and felt a smile stealing over her face as the blue-white light of the holographic image resumed its flickering animation. The picture wavered on the top of the console before resolving, and there was a slight hiss and crackle that preceded Han's voice.

" _Hey, Chewie. Okay, listen, pal. Don't go crazy, alright? It's me. I'm with Leia. We just left Ord Mantell. I know you think I'm a dead man, but... What can I say? I'm full of surprises."_

Han's words were accompanied by a cocky smile, and an exaggerated gesture that said, _Hey, it's me. Did you expect anything else?_ As he leaned back into the seat and came to rest against his wife, Leia tucked her arm through his and propped her head against his shoulder. The sight always made Rey's throat close up with emotion. It was one of the moments in the message that compelled her to replay it over and over. They looked so relaxed, so content, so _familiar_ with one another. Rey's heart yearned to be part of that warmth, to feel their arms wrapped around her, holding her close. She bit her lower lip to stop it trembling and listened to the rest of the message.

" _It's a hell of a story, but I'll tell you all about that when I see you. I'm just glad to know that you made it out, too, buddy. And that Rey is with you now."_

The image of Han showed him hesitating slightly, his expression a complex mixture of emotions. Rey's eyes tracked the lift of Leia's head and the movement of her slim fingers tightening on Han's biceps. Rey had already scrutinised every tiny element of the brief scene a dozen times, so she found herself grinning in anticipation of seeing again the faint smile that played at the corner of her mother's mouth as Han spoke.

" _This part is for Rey."_

There was another long pause, while Han seemed to be trying to gather his thoughts. He blew out a puff of air from his lips and shook his head, seemingly at a loss as to where to begin. Rey especially loved the next moment, when Han turned his head slightly to look back at Leia. She punched the button to freeze the frame again and smiled at the image she'd captured. Even the relatively poor quality of the hologram image did not obscure the look in Leia's dark eyes, focused as they were on Han's face with a warm expression of encouragement. Her mother looked so _different_ here than Rey remembered seeing her on D'Qar. Younger. Far more relaxed. And happy. Grinning in unabashed delight, Rey pressed the replay key and watched Han's recorded movements resume. He faced forward again, and leaned in to peer directly into the recording device, as if trying to make eye contact with Rey across the vastness of time and space.

" _Okay, I don't know_ _ **what**_ _to say, Sweetheart. There's too much to put in a message like this. Just...stay safe. Let us know where you are, as soon as you can. We love you. We'll see you soon."_

Behind Han's shoulder, Leia smiled.

The holocomm ended there, and Rey had to resist the urge to punch the replay sequence one more time. She felt Chewbacca's presence behind her and, swivelling, dropped her head to the back of the chair to look up at him, heaving a deep sigh. His blue eyes met hers in a warm gaze of understanding. He bared his fangs at her in an expression that equated to a gentle smile, and patted her on the shoulder with a giant paw.

 _[*Soon, Little One. Very soon.*]_

* * *

 **Part 2:**

The _Falcon_ flew low over the mountainous terrain of the largest continent on the planet Kodus. They were in the northern hemisphere, not far from the western coastline where the land mass met a vast ocean. A glance at the ship's instruments showed Rey that they were fast approaching the coordinates they'd been given, identifying the location of the new Resistance base. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she gripped the armrests of the co-pilot's chair in which she sat, vaguely aware that she was not being of much help to Chewbacca as he navigated towards their destination, but feeling too wound up even to go through the motions. Even without asking, she knew that Chewie understood.

The location of the new base appeared to be somewhere along the northern edge of the planet's warm temperate zone, hidden high in a remote mountain range. The mountains themselves were majestic, even when viewed from above. Their lower halves were skirted with a dense band of forest that stretched as far as the eye could see; a sea of deciduous trees in every shade of green, with hints of gold, scarlet and orange, and scattered clumps of tall evergreens. The bare mountain tops were laced with snow and, in between, there was a treeless band of mostly-bare rock, thinly covered by patches of colourful heath and coarse grasses. Rey's scanning eyes narrowed against the afternoon sun as it glinted off of high mountain lakes and through the mist created by threadlike, cascading waterfalls, casting faint rainbows in the air. The stunning beauty of the landscape registered only dimly in her mind. She was looking for something else.

 _[*There it is.*]_ Chewbacca growled, indicating the direction he meant with a lift of his hairy chin. Luke, watching from his seat behind the pilot's chair, leaned forward to peer over the Wookiee's shoulder.

Rey's eyes followed Chewie's line of sight, and she spotted it: a broad natural plateau not far above the tree line, jutting out like a bent knee from the mountainside, embraced on two sides by low ridges of rock. As the Falcon closed the distance, she could see that the plateau was occupied and bustling with activity, as Resistance personnel went about the business of setting up their new base.

As they drew closer, Rey tried to take in the scale of the site. To her eye, it looked very similar to the base on D'Qar, with the same orderly arrangement of sturdy temporary structures, albeit it in a slightly different configuration, and the same collection of personnel, equipment and droids. A few structures were still in the process of being erected, Rey could see, as her eager gaze swept over the scene.

Chewbacca took them for a pass high overhead to get a glimpse of the overall layout, and to find a place to land the ship. As they flew by the site, Rey noticed that the plateau extended deeply between the two ridges of rock, and it was at the far end—the edge abutting the mountain itself—that the largest structure had been erected. That would be the command centre, she knew, and the place where she was likely to find Leia, at least, if not also Han.

She drew a deep breath and then blew it out slowly, trying without much success to calm her racing pulse. She could sense Luke in her periphery, and she knew that he would probably tell her to remember her lessons in how to meditate to quiet her emotions, which he'd first taught her as a child. She and Chewie had spent a handful of days with Luke at his home on Ahch-To before departing for Kodus, and he'd used some of that time to refresh her memory and resume her training. She felt utterly incapable of calming herself, though, and she hoped that he wouldn't voice the suggestion.

The _Falcon_ flew wide of the base and banked sharply to return the way they'd come. Just over the lower end of the abutting eastern ridge, a landing field had been set up on a second broad plateau, and Rey could see that there was yet another landing area slightly higher up the mountainside, which was already populated with ranks of X-Wings and an assortment of other smaller ships. The _Falcon_ banked again as Chewbacca headed for the lower of the two fields.

 _[*That is your mother's ship.*]_ Chewbacca growled softly, indicating a new model KDY _Arisaig_ -class light cruiser perched near the lower end of the eastern ridge.

There was a vacant space reserved next to Leia's ship that looked just big enough to accommodate the _Falcon_. Rey sat forward on the edge of the co-pilot's chair, fingertips slipping on the surface of the console, her eyes taking in the distinctive features of the chromium-plated ship so that she would recognise it again. She also noted a natural dip in the low ridge that separated the main base with the lower landing field, a thoroughfare over and through which Resistance personnel were passing in both directions in a steady flow. As the _Falcon_ dipped lower and Chewbacca began flipping switches in preparation for landing, Rey's scanning eyes caught a glimpse of two familiar figures emerging from the command centre.

" _There they are..."_

Rey tried to speak the words aloud, but her throat was locked. Her lips moved, but she produced only the faintest of whispers. She blew out a gust of air and bit the inside of her lip, trying to quell the feeling that she was going to burst into undignified tears. She turned to look at Chewbacca, and then glanced over her shoulder at Luke in the seat behind the pilot's chair. The Wookiee was preoccupied with the task of landing the freighter without the aid of his distracted co-pilot, but Luke's mouth quirked up in an understanding smile, and then Rey turned back to crane her head for another glimpse. Her eyes roamed the line between the command centre and the pass that led to the landing field, looking for Han and Leia again, but she could no longer pick out their figures from those of other personnel on the ground.

As the _Falcon_ began drifting down to its landing site, Rey stood up from the co-pilot's chair and leaned forward to peer through the canopy, trying to map out the direction and route she would take once the ship was on the ground. She barely noticed Chewbacca reaching one long arm across to operate the controls to her right that she should, as co-pilot, be operating for him. Just before the freighter dipped below the ridge line, Rey saw her parents emerge on the nearside of the mountain pass. Han lifted a hand high in greeting, just as Chewbacca carefully manoeuvred the _Falcon_ into position and they dropped below the line of sight.

Rey sank down on shaky legs to perch on the edge of the co-pilot's chair again, chafing her icy hands together and shivering. Dimly, she was aware that something was wrong. Her stomach was in knots, and her breathing was too shallow. One moment, she thought she might be sick—in the next, she felt afloat, emotionless and strangely detached from her environment. It was disquieting to realise that her happy excitement had evaporated, leaving behind only a bitter residue of emotion that was more akin to fear than to joy. In an effort to rationalise her way into a better mindset, she reminded herself that she'd already met her parents, albeit individually. She'd spent time with them, and felt connected to them. She'd already felt the tender touch of her mother's hand, and earned her father's respect. Why _now_ , when the day that she'd longed for was finally upon her, when she was moments away from being reunited with them both, did she feel suddenly so anxious and afraid?

At that moment, she felt her uncle's hand on her shoulder and turned her head to look at him, even as she felt the _thunk_ of the freighter's landing pads touching down on the rocky surface of Kodus. Luke's fathomless, faded blue eyes regarded her with sadness, and something like remorse. It was a look she didn't quite understand, but she placed her hand over his and gave it a squeeze nevertheless, grateful for his kindness and forbearance.

 _[*Go, Little One.*]_ Chewbacca rumbled as he finished the landing sequence.

Rey couldn't remember exiting the _Falcon_. One moment she was rising to her feet in the cockpit, and the next she was at the foot of the boarding ramp, shivering in the cool autumnal air and turning around in place, trying to get her bearings. Behind her, she could hear the sound of Luke's voice and Chewbacca's answering rumble echoing in the corridors of the old freighter. Above her head, the _Falcon_ creaked and groaned as it settled down onto its new perch. Around the perimeter of the _Falcon_ 's landing site, the ceaseless flow of Resistance personnel continued under the late-afternoon sun. Two or three people recognised her from her brief visit to D'Qar and called greetings, but Rey was too slow to respond, and they walked on. She took a step in what she thought was the right direction, changed course and faltered, and turned around again, feeling lost.

"Rey," her mother's rich voice called softly from behind her, and she turned to see Leia and Han emerging from the gap between the _Falcon_ and Leia's gleaming cruiser. Han closed most of the distance between them in a few long strides, clearly intending to embrace her, but something in her face must have arrested the impulse, because he stopped short of touching distance and gave her a wary, searching look.

Rey stood transfixed, scarcely more than a few steps away from the man she now knew was her father, the man whose brutal murder she thought she'd witnessed not long ago. As she scanned his figure, she felt overwhelmed with thoughts, memories and emotions. She shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around her middle in an effort to still the uneasy trembling of her muscles. The sight of Han alive was stunning and surreal, partly because she'd believed without question that he must be dead. But even more than that, the look in his eyes made her feel shaky and strange. A flicker of a memory stirred, something from her early childhood. She recalled the same hazel eyes in a leaner, smoother face, but with the same loving expression. She remembered the same wide, wryly tilted mouth, forming similar, caring words.

"You alright, Sweetheart?" Han said as Leia moved around to his other side.

The two of them seemed hesitant to approach now, warned by something in Rey's expression and her hunched, stiff body language—or perhaps through vibrations in the Force—that all was not well. Looking at them as they stared at her, feeling the concern and love that was emanating from them both through that silent channel, she realised what it was that was making her heart gallop and her palms sweat. For fourteen years she'd languished, abandoned on Jakku, isolated and seemingly forgotten, tethered to the desert surface by a faintly-remembered injunction to _wait_ , and a promise that her family would someday return to claim her. In time, she'd forgotten everything else, even her own name, although she'd remembered that command: _wait_. But the promised day had never come, and her many questions had languished with her. Over the years, she'd collected a thousand more, but there was never anyone to ask, never anyone who could answer.

As those memories floated up from the darkest corners of her mind, she saw Leia move as if to step closer, and Rey put out a forestalling hand.

"Wait," she whispered the word aloud, meeting her mother's anxious gaze with a pleading look of her own. _I'm not ready. Please wait._

Here before her now were the two people in all the galaxy who were best placed to tell her the story of her origins, of what had happened to her as a child, and why. And although she knew some of the basics, having learned them from Leia during her brief stay on D'Qar, and a few other bare facts gleaned from Chewbacca, and then Luke, as they travelled together on the _Falcon_ , she couldn't shake the feeling that there were still many important things yet unsaid. There was so much more she wanted to know—that she _needed_ to know—and Han and Leia together would be able to give her all of those answers. But now that both of them stood almost within arm's reach, inexplicably she felt afraid.

And not just afraid, she realised. She felt rigid with fear, as if to take another step towards Han and Leia, to touch them or to speak with them, would shatter the delicate picture of her family that she'd held for so long in her mind. Faint memories, cherished hopes, wild imaginings—all of it would evaporate. And she didn't know what would be left behind.

Shivering in the cool mountain air, Rey looked from one strangely familiar figure to the other. Han stood with his hands braced on his hips, frowning, looking worried. Rey's gaze dropped to Leia's face and she saw that her mother's dark eyes were filled with concern. Blinking to clear her blurred vision, Rey tried desperately to feel something—anything—other than dread.

Then her father spoke again, and the single word, in that timbre, was the key that tumbled the lock.

"Breha."

Rey felt something deep inside her heart crack and crumble, even as she felt her face crumpling up with tears. Han reached her in two strides. Her arms were still wrapped around her own body so she didn't return his embrace, but he didn't seem to care. He wrapped her up in a fierce hug, cradling her head with one hand and pressing kisses against her temple, murmuring an endless string of words and phrases she'd yearned for so long to hear, but now could scarcely comprehend: "We've got you, Sweetheart. You're home now. _Ssh_. It's alright. We love you." His voice rumbled on and on in that vein, a gruff lullaby that soothed and calmed her.

Rey's world dissolved in a blur as Leia joined them, and the energy that surrounded them all enveloped her in warmth. Han released his hold only long enough to gather his wife against him, too, and the two of them formed a close circle with their arms around Rey, and let her cry, communicating with her through the Force just how dearly she was loved. Rey sobbed like a child for a long time, but the weight of Han's arm across her back, and Leia's warm hand smoothing her hair away from her face, gave her comfort. Eventually, her tears subsided and she realised that the fear that had gripped her was fading, and a new hope was rising to take its place. Wiping her eyes against the back of one hand, she rested her head against Han's chest and shared a tremulous smile with Leia, who was doing much the same thing on the other side. Han's arms tightened around them both as he planted a kiss first on one head and then the other. There were no words between them now; they needed none. Through the Force, Rey could feel both of her parents communicating their love for her and for each other, and their soaring joy at having her home. She was content for the moment; her questions could wait.

* * *

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

The afternoon sun had dropped lower in the sky as they stood swaying together, and now slanted its rays under the edge of the overhanging _Falcon_ , warming Rey's back despite the chill in the air. The sound of Chewbacca descending the boarding ramp roused Rey from her comfortable position at last. She turned her head to see the Wookiee reach the foot of the ramp and slump down on a stack of shipping crates a short distance away, waiting to greet Han. Chewie had been patient enough, she thought, remaining aboard the freighter all this time to give her time alone with her parents. Smiling up at Han and placing a soft kiss on his cheek, she released him and took a step back. As Han stepped away, Leia reached out a hand and Rey took it, drawing close to her mother as they turned to witness the reunion of the two old friends.

Considering Chewbacca's reaction when he'd first learned of Han's survival, Rey expected to see her father treated to an extremely boisterous Wookiee reception. She was surprised, therefore, to see Chewie simply tilt his russet head and growl softly at Han as he approached. The autumnal wind ruffled his long hair and sent long strands of it whipping across his face.

 _[*I have no idea how you survived that, Solo.*]_

"Yeah, well, I almost didn't, Chewie," Han said plainly, stopping just short of where Chewbacca sat. "If a couple of things hadn't gone my way..." His voice trailed off and he gave a characteristic half-shrug.

 _[*You really are the_ luckiest _human I've ever known.*]_

Han laughed and sighed at the same time, nodding and shaking his head all at once. "I know. Trust me. I know it. I'm a lucky man. And not least of all because you were there, pal. If you hadn't—."

Chewbacca made an abrupt gesture of negation, and a gruff vocalisation that cut Han's words off. From where Rey stood, she could see the pain in the Wookiee's blue eyes. His voice, always rough, sounded even more ragged than usual.

 _[*Don't thank me. I should have taken out Kylo Ren before he struck you. I hesitated too long. I'm sorry.*]_

"Ah, Chewie," Han sighed. "Don't do that to yourself. You were the same as me out there. 'Cause that wasn't 'Kylo Ren' I was standing in front of—that was _Ben_. And you wanted him to come home as much as we did."

Chewbacca hung his head then, and low, mournful sounds emanated from his chest. Rey felt Leia's arm tighten around her waist. The Wookiee was seldom as sombre as he appeared now, and the sight was deeply affecting, as were the strange, subterranean vocalisations he was making. Rey wasn't sure if Chewie was actually saying anything, or if the sounds meant something else. Whatever the case, Han was moved to approach his friend, and placed a hand on one massive, shaggy forearm.

"Alright, stop that and listen to me," Han said sharply, gripping Chewbacca's arm and giving it a shake. "There was nothing you could have done to help me. And, Chewie, _you saved our daughter's life._ "

He swallowed hard and moved his hand up to grip Chewbacca's broad shoulder, leaning in to try to catch the Wookiee's eye. "I don't need to tell you what that means to us. You know better than anybody. So don't tell me you're sorry, you big oaf. And don't talk to me anymore about owing me anything. You got that?"

After a pause, Chewbacca lifted his head and met Han's gaze fully. His blue eyes searched Han's face for a moment.

[*I shot Ben. Wounded him badly, I think.*]

Han straightened up and blew out a forceful gust of air, bracing his hands on his hips. "I know. Leia told me. You did what you had to do, buddy. And if you _hadn't_ done that, if you hadn't weakened him, he might've killed Breha."

Chewbacca paused and then gave a sharp chuff, tilting his head. [*She calls herself by another name now, you know.*]

"I know, I know. I'm trying to remember that!" Han rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, then glanced over at Rey and winked.

He turned his gaze back to his friend. "She's still Breha to me. And she's alive because of _you_. So we're square, right? No guilt, no debts. Okay?"

The Wookiee cocked his head to one side, then gave a short nod and a grunt.

 _[*As you wish. I'm happy to have brought her safely back to you and the Princess.*]_

Han grinned, then, and clapped Chewie on the arm, clearly relieved at the Wookiee's response.

"C'mon, cheer up, then," he cajoled. "You're not even gonna try to pick me up, or mess up my hair or somethin'?"

Obligingly, Chewbacca bared his fangs in a broad Wookiee smile and threw his big arms around his friend in a relatively restrained—but still evidently backbreaking—hug. Han gasped in pain, and tried almost immediately to escape it.

"Alright, alright, that's more like it," he said good-naturedly, extricating himself from the Wookiee's embrace, and trying to duck his head as Chewie stood up and ruffled his hair with an enormous paw. "Cut it out already."

With a brief squeeze, Leia released Rey and went to greet Chewbacca herself. The towering Wookiee had to bend nearly double to embrace the diminutive woman and the two exchanged some words that made all three of them laugh. Rey was moving to join the group when she saw them turn to look up towards the top of the boarding ramp, to where Luke had just appeared. Chewbacca chose that moment to take his leave, ducking underneath the _Falcon_ to attend somewhat belatedly to the landing gear, leaving Han and Leia to greet their friend and brother.

Luke had deliberately delayed disembarking from the _Falcon_ , and now he looked oddly hesitant to Rey's eyes, which was in sharp contrast to the self-assured demeanour he'd demonstrated throughout their short acquaintance. The Jedi Knight stepped lightly down the ramp to stand before Han and Leia and, in the gravid silence that followed, Rey recognised that there were some weighty issues to be discussed and resolved. Indeed, she had the distinct impression that something was _already_ being discussed among the trio, through the Force, without words.

Watching the silent exchange, Rey knew that her brother and his dark master would be at the centre of many conversations to come, and the thought made her quail inside. She'd been stunned to learn from Leia, during their first long conversation on D'Qar, that indeed she _had_ an older brother. She was still reeling from that knowledge and could not bear to think about it for long. Her early memories of her parents were faint enough, but she had no memory at all of a sibling, which was a fact that left her feeling deeply uneasy. If she could be made to forget something like that, what else of her life had been lost?

And she'd been deeply shocked to learn of Ben's betrayal, and especially of his adopted identity as Kylo Ren. The revelation that _her own brother_ had abandoned her on Jakku had been bad enough. But when she'd realised that her brother was, in fact, the same person as the menacing figure who had abducted her from Takodana and tried to invade her mind for information; that he was the spectre that had hunted her through the woods on Starkiller Base—and that he was the monster who had very nearly murdered Han Solo—Rey had felt simultaneously terrified and furious. She'd tried to speak with Leia and with Luke about Ben, but both had been somewhat reticent with details, gently redirecting such conversations to firmer ground. Clearly, they preferred to leave more in-depth discussions about her brother for another time.

Luke, especially, had resisted being drawn on the subject, and had focused more on Rey's reaction to the news. He'd voiced his concern particularly over the anger and fear she showed when they talked about the events on Starkiller Base. Rey had dutifully banked her outward expressions of fury, but she was still enraged at Kylo Ren for what he'd done to Han, as well as for his attack on Finn, and she wanted him punished for those heinous acts. Ben's cold-blooded attempt to murder their father made him especially grotesque in Rey's eyes. Deep in her heart, if she were being completely honest, she wanted _revenge_ for that.

As those dark thoughts flickered through her mind, Rey realised that her parents and her uncle were no longer looking at each other; they were all staring at her. She felt suddenly self-conscious, wondering what she'd done to draw their attention. She reached up to touch her hair and glanced down at herself, tugging on her tunic.

When she looked up, the strange, silent conversation between her parents and Luke seemed to have been broken, and Leia was finally moving to hug her brother, murmuring something in his ear. The two clung together for a long moment as Han looked on, and then Han and Luke shared a brief embrace and a few quiet words. Then, together, the three of them turned and advanced towards Rey, to stand around her in a rough semi-circle.

"What is it?" Rey asked, feeling a stir of discomfort at being the focus of their troubled expressions. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Rey," Leia said gently. "We're just concerned about you. You've already been through so much." She tilted her head in acknowledgement of Rey's almost involuntary gesture of impatience. "We know you have questions, and we're going to talk through everything. Together. _Soon_. But I think it can at least wait until morning."

"I'd like to talk _now_ ," Rey asserted somewhat testily, surprising herself with the vehemence of her response.

 _Wait!?_ The word made her clench her fists and swallow hard against the lump in her throat. _I've waited long enough!_

She also felt increasingly uneasy at the way all three of them were regarding her, and she wanted to get whatever it was that was worrying them out in the open. Luke, especially, looked disturbed.

"It can _wait_ ," Han echoed Leia's words with mock sternness, giving Rey a pointed look that felt oddly familiar.

A dim recollection drifted up into her conscious mind. That was his most fatherly expression, she remembered, the one that meant _cut it out_ —or, sometimes, _mind your mother_. Scraps of memories flickered through her mind, making her catch her breath. The corner of Han's mouth quirked up at her expression. "There are more important things to do tonight," he said in a gentler tone.

"More important?" Rey repeated, suddenly feeling breathless and tense.

" _Much_ more important things," Han said with deep conviction, stepping closer to drop one arm across her shoulders. He gathered her against his side to plant a kiss on the top of her head. "Like _celebrating_."

"Finn is anxious to see you again," Leia reminded her with a warm smile. "He's been driving us a little crazy, waiting for you to get back. I think he and Poe are planning a party."

Rey felt some of the tension leave her at the mention of her friends. She'd been so happy and relieved to learn, upon receipt of Leia's holocomm message, of Finn's quick recovery. And although she had only spent a few hours with Poe Dameron, they'd been memorable hours, and she couldn't deny feeling intrigued by him. She offered a hesitant smile, looking from Luke to Leia, and then back at Han.

"A party? I'd like that," she admitted softly. "And we _should_ celebrate your survival."

"Not just that," Han replied in a quiet voice, gazing down at her with a tender expression that made Rey's throat close up. As he spoke, Leia stepped to Rey's other side and took her hand. Wordlessly, Luke moved towards them, completing the circle. To Rey's eyes, the three of them together presented a formidable assemblage. Her eyes roamed from face to face, wondering at what mysteries would be solved when she finally got the chance to ask all of her questions, and to have all of them answered.

"So, what else are we celebrating, then?" she ventured, finally, when the weighty silence had dragged on uncomfortably long.

She was startled by a burst of laughter from all three of them, which was followed by a flood of warm emotion that she could sense through the Force—of joy, relief, amusement and love; most of all love.

* * *

 **The End!**

The family (such as it is) is back together. My work here is done.

Comments and reviews are always, always, always appreciated. Gives me a little thrill to know people are still reading and (hopefully) enjoying this!

With big thanks to lovely beta readers **BonesBooth206, CoriMariee** and **Aquarius-1977** for many thoughtful and useful suggestions, and loads of encouragement.


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